


The General

by adiduck (book_people)



Series: Dimo Becomes a General [2]
Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of gore and amputation, gross misuse of live sheep, really it's ghastly, sheep abuse, you boys should be ashamed of yourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/book_people/pseuds/adiduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes six months for Dimo to officially become acting general of the Jaegermonster army after Baron Klaus Wulfenbach locks Mechanicsburg, and himself and their Heterodyne with it. A lot can happen in six months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's doooooone!
> 
> This is the fic I wrote for NaNo this year. It is complete at 37k, so obviously I didn't win, haha. Ha. It's in beta right now, so I should update relatively fast. Hope you enjoy!

The worst thing about it was that it didn’t make any noise at all.

What alerted Dimo to the situation was the sudden _lack_ of noise behind him. Generally, in a battle, that was not a good sign.

One minute the town was bustling almost as loud as the clank he was currently tag-teaming with Oggie, shouting and bird calls and the grind of stone and steel together as the Castle rebuilt what had been broken and ordered around minions for the rest, and then Mamma was shouting a call to arms, and then—

He looked up as Kindei howled, pulled the stump of his arm back, staring at the force field that had just gone right through it and cut it off at the elbow.

The entire town was enclosed. The Castle, and the townsfolk, and the few Jӓgers who had gotten through the gate before—

They needed to regroup. He ripped a hinge off the clank’s leg, threw it with as much force as he could at its head. It went down. “Fall beck to de mountainz,” he said to Oggie, and to Maxim, who’d come dashing up, looking just as shell-shocked as Dimo felt. They nodded and took off, hollering as they went. Dimo could see more of the detached Jӓgers rallying as well, dragging their shocked comrades along with the grim determination that had driven them all for 15 years and could have kept them going for years longer.

Dimo took one more look at the force field and then ran, too.

* * *

The first order of business, once the opposing army had been beaten back from the town as much as possible and as many Jӓgers as could be expected had made it to one of the secret tunnels in the mountains, was to determine who would be ordering business. Dimo did a quick scan of the bruised up and wide-eyed army that had—once again—been cut off from everything they gave a damn about maybe a day after getting it back, sighed, and started looking for Jenka.

He found her very forcibly bandaging Mezhak’s leg, giving him a thorough tongue-lashing about—from what Dimo could gather—improper use of knee-caps on metal as she did it. Mezhak looked like he was trying to decide if it would be worth it to run.

He was too relieved she’d been outside Mechanicsburg when the force field went up to care. “Jenka.”

She looked up, and scowled at him. “Ho, hyu iz out, too, den.”

“Und Ognian und Maxim,” Dimo agreed. “Ve vere together vhen…” he paused. “Vhen votever dot vas vent op.”

Jenka grumbled, and turned back to Mezhak’s knee. She gave the bandage a particularly hard tug, and he grabbed his thigh, making a sound that had probably been a swallowed yelp, kicking purely on reflex. “Are enny of de generalz here?” she asked, pinning the leg down with her own knee and giving Mezhak a look Dimo had come to recognize as meaning ‘do not do that again.’ Mezhak gulped.

“Hy don’t tink so,” Dimo said, eyeing Mezhak’s knee as well. Looked like he’d shattered his kneecap and maybe broken something—there was blood under the bandage. “Hy didn’t see enny on de field.”

“Demn it,” she muttered.

Dimo sighed agreement and scrubbed at his face. His temples were throbbing. “Ve may be on our own for de time being,” he finished. “Hy vas tinking, ve probably need to figure out who _iz_ here, und… mebbe try to get into de town.”

Jenka looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Dot ting goes all de vay around, Hy checked. Und it looks like hyu ken’t valk through either.”

“It cut Kindei’s arm off vhen it vent op,” Dimo agreed.

“Mmph,” Jenka sat back. Mezhak inched his leg away from her a little, and when she turned her head to glare smiled disarmingly and put it back with a wince. She turned back to Dimo. “Hy see a bird hit it und disintegrate. Chust like dot, pow, dust.”

Dimo winced. “Ve don’t even know vot it _iz_ ,” he complained. “Hy neffer saw de Castle use it before… mebbe dere’s a vay in. Ve could try de tunnels, or…”

“ _Hy_ ken’t,” Jenka interrupted, grabbing Mezhak’s leg without looking as he tried inching away again. “Hy iz only vun Jӓger! Ve don’t haff orders, ve don’t haff access to de Castle, ve don’t even haff a goot idea who iz _in_ here! Hy haff to finish dis. Hyu take all doze ideas und find somevun who ken _do_ something vith them.”

“Tek me vith hyu?” Mezhak added plaintively, and winced when Jenka snarled in his general direction.

“Hyu iz not going _ennyvhere_ , hyu eediot, hyu _ken’t valk_.”

Dimo gave Mezhak a wince of sympathy over Jenka’s head. Mezhak slumped. Jenka’s head snapped back to Dimo, glare fully in place. “ _Stop hovering like a-- a bog-ting und go do someting_ useful!”

Dimo went.

* * *

The problem was, Dimo didn’t really know what to do next. There were hundreds of Jӓgers in this tunnel and the tunnels branching off of it, in varying states of health. He knew some had been in the hospital or on the way there when the force field went up, but he didn’t know how many or, really, who they had been for the most part. He didn’t know who wasn’t here  _now_ , and there were way too many of them for him to get a good count all on his own.

Even worse, he was almost positive Agatha had been inside.

He could go to the tunnels himself, but the idea of going without backup made his skin crawl. Particularly since he didn’t know what he’d find.

If there was no way in—

They’d been _so close_.

“Dimo!” Dimo turned to look, spotting Oggie as he wove his way through the crowded tunnels, halberd slung over his shoulder and face serious for once. Maxim was two steps behind him, looking equally grim.

Dimo was so glad to see them he could choke on it.

“Vat’s de vord,” he asked, as they skidded up to him.

“Ve gots efferyvun ve saw into de tunnels,” Maxim told him, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Hy didn’t see enny humans, und Oggie seyz he didn’t either.”

“Hy talk to Beniamin, too,” Ognian said. “Und some ov de odder detached Jӓgers. Dey vas gon take a sveep ov de field to see if der’s anyvon else.” He… hesitated, grip shifting on the staff of his weapon, before adding. “Dey vant to know vot happened. Hy say Hy don’t know.”

“Hy don’t know either,” Dimo told him. “Jenka vent around, she sayz dere’s no vay in from ground level.”

“Up above?” Maxim suggested. “Ve could go op de mountain und see.”

“Looked like it vos round,” Oggie said, “but mebbe dere’s a hole or someting. Hy could go check?”

Dimo nodded slowly. “Jah, dot’s a goot idea. Or mebbe… iz Gobar around, do hyu know? ”

Gobar had been one of the other wild Jӓgers. He’d been a runner before he was detached, since he’d gotten legs like a jack rabbit from the change. If anyone was going to be able to get high enough to see what there was to see of Mechanicsburg quickly, and was likely to not be a stunned mess on the floor of a tunnel somewhere right now, it was him.

“Hy dunno,” Oggie admitted. “Hy didn’t see him.” Dimo looked at Maxim, who also shook his head, hands in his pockets. Dimo grimaced.

“Hokay!” he said. “Dot’s first, den. Ve need to know who’s even _in here_ , und how dey’re doink. Ve get a list. If hyu see Gobar, ve talk to him about goink op to check de top ov de… ov de town. Und kom find me vhen hyu finish, und ve compare lists.”

“Ken do,” Oggie said, cheerfully. “Hy tek de left fork, Maxim.”

“Bet Hy find Gobar faster,” Maxim said, grinning.

“You’re on.” And they took off, calling out to the others as they went. Dimo waited long enough to see Maxim stop and talk to Costache, who was pretty obviously clutching his ribs and pretending he wasn’t, and then turned himself and went on a search of his own.

Above was all well and good, but the fact was Oggie was right. The dome looked like it was curved, and from what Dimo remembered seeing, it looked like it _had_ closed at the top. The tunnels were a better bet, but Oggie and Maxim weren’t really the best qualified people to send in there. He had an idea of who might be, though, and looking for him would help the cataloguing effort, too.

So. Second order of business: acquire status of the army and the town. Right. Let’s go.

* * *

He ran into Veaceslav about twenty minutes later, leaning up against the wall of an alcove and massaging his temples like he had the world’s worst headache. Dimo would have felt worse about that if he didn’t know Veaceslav often had the world’s worst headache. Came from having night vision ramped up to 400. “Hoy, Veaceslav,” he called, jogging up.

“Ho!” Veaceslav said, voice rattling like a chainsaw on steel, or maybe a bit like radio static. He looked up and opened his eyes, which as usual glowed like spotlights. He didn’t bother to flip up his wide, low brim, either, squinting out from under it, and ignoring the way the light bounced off and hit the paper-white skin of his face with centuries of habit. “Dimo! Hy haven’t seen hyu in years!”

“Schtill dun know how hyu ken see ennyting et all under dere,” Dimo teased, and couldn’t help grinning a little. “Heven’t been around, recently. Vos detached.”

“Jah,” Veaceslav said, wryly, and unfolded, crossed his too long arms over his chest, small, tight smirk on his face. “Hy remember, brodder, Hy vos dere ven hyu volunteer, jah?”

It was true. The whole company had been, actually, all in one room of the Jӓgerhall and buzzing with nervous tension and wild speculations. Not a one of the rumors had even come close to what the Generals had said.

Dimo shook his head and chuckled. Veaceslav’s smirk grew into a much more Jӓger-like grin, and he punched Dimo in the shoulder, welcoming. “Vot happen dere, den? Ve leaf hyu alone for not effen two decadez und hyu schtart losink limbs.”

Dimo shrugged, and Veaceslav let it go, just like that. Veaceslav was good that way. “Leesten, Hy’ve been talking to some ov de odders, und ve tink de town may be locked from de top. Ve need somevun to check de tunnels to see if dere’s a vay in from dere.”

“Huh,” Veaceslav looked thoughtful, pulling his visor down even more securely as he thought, chewed his lips absentmindedly. “Hy ken grab Sergiu mebbe, und Cornel. Hy saw dem earlier, dey look like dey could use something to do.”

Dimo didn’t doubt it. Sergiu and Cornel were both the type that started breaking things by accident if they got too bored—it really was by accident, too, it was pretty funny to watch their faces when they did it. Although…

“…does Cornel still do de ting vhere he poke everyting new he see?” Dimo asked wryly.

“…vell, yez,” Veaceslav admitted.

Dimo rolled his eyes. “Dun bring him, ve tink de barrier ting cuts op tings dot touch it,” he explained raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“Ah.” Veaceslav chuckled, definitely sounding like radio static now, pushed away from the wall to stand on his too long legs, adjusted his visor again. “Yah, hokay, mebbe Sergiu und Mitica den.”

“Dot vorks,” Dimo agreed. “Hy iz looking for some officers or someting, so Hy iz gonna be around. Come find me vunce hyu check, jah?”

“Hyu got it,” Veaceslav said, easily, and brushed past Dimo and down the corridor. Dimo watched him melt into the shadows, black and white uniform vanishing almost as if it had never been, only his low, gravelly voice there as a point of contact for where he might be. “Sergiu, get hyu ass op und come explore de tunnels vit me! Vere did hyu crawl into, hyu—“

Dimo grinned and kept going down the corridor. Now to find some officers.

* * *

Emilian and Jorgi had been Dimo’s immediate commanding officers before the Jӓgers had left Mechanicsburg to join the Baron, so of course what Dimo discovered upon asking around was that they’d managed to get beaten up enough during the battle to need medical attention and were probably on the other side of the barrier right now.  Dimo wished he could say he was surprised, but Jorgi had always had a knack for being right at the heart of the drama, and Emilian was the type of Jӓger who sort of attracted large, metal objects to the head.

Tymon hadn’t been in Dimo’s direct chain of command, but he _had_ been in Dimo’s platoon, and so when Dimo stumbled over him the idiot absolutely had to spend the first five minutes cheerfully welcoming Dimo back into the fold by attempting to break his shoulder (the one that still had an arm, the asshole) and also maybe swiping Dimo’s hat for the express purpose of attempting to give Dimo a noogie. Dimo roughhoused back, grinning, and when Tymon finally settled down enough to listen to a damn word Dimo had to say Dimo was feeling a bit better about the whole situation.

He _was_ back with the pack, after all. He was _well_ aware that things could be muchworse.

“Hy vos looking for somevun in charge,” Dimo explained, pulling his hat firmly back onto his head and leaning up against the wall next to Tymon, who was somehow giving off the impression that he’d come to rest there only for a breath or two before momentum sent him pinballing through the tunnels again. Tymon turned a little and looked at him, both eyebrows raised.

“Ho, yez?” he asked. “Deed hyu find somevun?”

“Eh,” Dimo said, shrugging. “Maxim und Ognian are trying to get an idea ov who’s here und in vot condition, und Veaceslav iz takink a few people to check de tunnels—“

“Hee, bet he likes _dot_ job—“

“--und Hy tink Maxim or Oggie iz gonna talk Gabor into checking de barrier from de top,” Dimo finished, smirking. Couldn’t be quiet for five seconds, some things never change. Dimo raised an eyebrow. “Ting iz, though…”

“Oh _no_ ,” Tymon whined, “hyu iz vantink me to tell hyu vot iz goink on too, izn’t hyu,” He pushed away from the wall so he could turn and glare sulkily at Dimo with his entire body. “Hy haven’t heard anyting, for de thousandth time today. Hy iz chust a sergeant, novun tells me ennyting.”

Actually, nobody told Tymon anything because it was a surefire way to ensure the entire army knew by dinner time, even the squads that were deployed several days away. Dimo watched Tymon start pacing agitatedly when Dimo didn’t have an immediate response, and wisely decided not to point that out.

Anyway, the “don’t tell Tymon things you don’t want spread to the whole army” didn’t usually apply to orders, no matter what Tymon said. Dimo had a sinking suspicion about what Tymon not having the details of what happened meant for the current state of communications in the tunnels.

“Hyu dun effen hear about—“

“Hy vasn’t effen close enough to de town to really see vot _happened_ ,” Tymon growled, and stopped moving all at once to glare again, back rounded, hands flexing. Dimo blinked, a little surprised. “Vun minute ve iz viping de floor vit de invaders, und de next hy hav Jӓgers streaming past me sayink de town is locked down solid und ve need to _retreat_. Und _den_ ,” he continued, teeth bared around the growing growl under his words, “Hy hear dey mean dere’s a—a crazy force field around Mechanicsburg, und nobody knows vot’s going on in dere, und efferyvun keeps esking me _vot ve is gonna do_!”

Dimo held up his hand. “Hokay, hokay. Hy izn’t asking. Peace.”

“…Hmph.” Tymon held his position for a minute, and then relaxed all at once, crossed his arms and turned his head away so he could scowl sulkily out of the corner of his eye at Dimo, growl suddenly gone. “Hyu _vos_ asking. _Hy_ dunno.”

Dimo sighed. “Vell, somevun better figure it out qvick, because ve haff an army in here und no orders, und de enemy izn’t exactly _gone_ out dere, Hy dun tink.”

Tymon shrugged, and went back to slumping against the wall, ears and shoulders and the corners of his mouth all drooping like a dejected puppy. “Hy asked a few ov de other officers, und dey tink de generalz iz behind de force field, so dot might be de problem.”

“Jah, Jenka say dot too,” Dimo agreed.

Tymon turned to spear him with a look again. “But hyu say Maxim und Oggie iz making a list of who’s in here?” he asked slowly.

“Jah, ve figured it vould be easier to know who can go do vat iffen ve knew who vos _here_ ,” Dimo started.

“Dey iz comink back to tell hyu ven dey iz done?”

Dimo blinked. “…Yez? Chust becawz ve voz who voz talking about--”

“Hy have de status ov all de Jӓgers in mine squad,” Tymon interrupted. “Und Hy ken go und shake down Fedya und Vinko, Hy know dey haff dey own.”

“…Oh!” Dimo said. “…uh, yez, dot vould be goot.”

Tymon grinned, bounced away from the wall, energy suddenly restored. “Hokay, Hy go und get dem. Hyu vant it written down?”

“…Uh? Jah, ectually, goot idea, Hy dun tink Maxim und Oggie are but… yes.”

“Hokay.” Tymon slapped Dimo on the shoulder. “Hy vill come find hyu ven I gots de whole platoon, jah? Goot to have hyu beck, Dimo!” And he ran off, waving over his shoulder.

Dimo blinked. Well. Uh.

He supposed he should find some officers in a different platoon, then.

* * *

Word got around, of course, now that someone had told  _Tymon_ , and Dimo only really had to go and ask Octavian and Marcel and suddenly he practically had a line of officers coming up to him with reports, in various levels of readability, grinning and welcoming him back and “Tymon seyz hyu iz gathering de statuses in vun place” – “Hy hear hyu iz collecting namez” – “Oggie seyz hyu vanted to know who iz in here” – “Hy tolk to Maxim und he vanted to know—“

“Dimo,” Oggie called, and ran up to him with a pile of paper and a slightly harried expression. “Hy ask everyvun in de left fork, und Hy run into—“

“Iwan?” Dimo guessed, waving a piece of paper that he’d taken bemusedly when it was shoved in his face and spent the last five minutes trying to read.

“Vell, yez,” Oggie said, “but also Hy run into Captain Yakov, und he say he’s got a leest ov casualties, und dot if hyu iz keeping a list dot hyu should mebbe start spreading around dot de Jӓgerkin vit injuries should go to the tunnel he’s in.”

“Huh,” Dimo said. “Jah, hokay. Did you run into Gabor?”

“Hy saw Maxim, und he say he see him und kick him out to go run op de mountain,” Oggie said negligently. “But leesten, Hy talk to a few ov de odders und dey tink de Baron iz also in dere. Dey see a clenk dot come down und dey say it look like Klaus’s battle clenk armor.”

…Dimo wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news. On the one hand, Castle Wulfenbach was probably under Agatha’s boy’s control now, which… could be a good thing. On the other hand nobody had called off the army when the barrier went up.

Was Wulfenbach still mobilizing?

“Ve need to send somevun to figure out vot’s out there,” Dimo said, beginning to feel that headache throbbing in his temples again. “Ve mebbe should have had a patrol going already, but…”

“Hy can do a circuit,” Oggie offered.

“…Jah, hyu probably should,” Dimo agreed. “Mebbe grab vun or two odders to bring vit hyu. Ve ken figure out who’s better for dot right now ven ve know who all iz in here.”

“Hokay,” Oggie said cheerfully. “Here,” he handed Dimo some paper.

...at first glance, there were definitely duplicates to the Jӓgers on the lists Dimo already had. Damn. He’d have to go through it all. “Thenks,” he said wryly.

“Heh, goot luck,” Oggie said, grin on his face saying he knew exactly what Dimo was thinking and did not envy him at _all_. He dashed off before Dimo could try to shove some of the excess paper down his throat, turned a corner and was gone.

Dimo’s temples throbbed. He looked at his stack of paper, and at Symon, who was rounding another corner with some more and looking ready to climb the walls, and wondered what in the world he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

Veaceslav found Dimo as he was finally giving in and starting a list of his own, just to make it easier to figure out who had given him what (he figured once he had the highest officer lists, he could use the lower lists to cross reference. Or something. Mostly he wanted to know what paper he could burn to make himself feel better). The other Jӓger took one look at Dimo’s likely harried and ink-stained person, and burst out laughing, voice like a rusty screw on cobblestone.

“Hy leave hyu alone for less den vun day und hyu end up drowning in paper,” he smirked, still snickering. “First de arm, now dis. Vot hev hyu been doink for 15 years, Hy vunder.”

“Not dis,” Dimo said, and vengefully crossed a name off one list when he found it on another. “If only becawz Hy tink Oggie iz allergic to paper.”

“Hy see Oggie on de vay in,” Veaceslav offered, coming up to Dimo and squatting down, long body curling like a startled spider, to eye the paper with vague suspicion. “He vos vit Yuriy und Kuba. Looked like dey vos doink a sveep.”

“Jah, ve need to know vot all iz happening vit de odder armies vhile ve regroup,” Dimo said. “Speaking ov…”

“Mm.” Veaceslav stopped smirking, eyes grave under his visor. “Ve check de tunnels. De Vest Tunnel, de Black Tunnel, de Monster Tunnel iz all blocked by dot barrier. Und de odders start on de odder side.”

Dimo felt his stomach drop. “So ve is really locked out from below,” he said, flatly.

“Ho, yez,” Veaceslav agreed, gravely. “Und since novun come out, ve tink dey iz locked inside, too.” Veaceslav sat down all the way next to Dimo, stretched his legs out, adjusted his hat, eyes closed. “Efen vorse, though, iz Mitica say he go op to see if he could mebbe get somevun’s attention, und den he call me to make sure, und…” he massaged his temples and then turned his head a little to look Dimo in the face. “Und nobody inside iz movink, Dimo. Iz like dey is all frozen in place. Und de shadows iz wrong, like iz still midday in dere.”

Dimo stared at him, blinking. “It iz still midday—like, de time ven de barrier goes op, hyu mean.”

“Jah,” Veaceslav said, face unreadable. “So nobody inside ken get out becawz… dey dun know dey iz trapped, probably.”

“Red fire,” Dimo breathed. “Hy iz goink through dese lists, und… de generalz is definitely not here, und Hy tink a lot of de officerz vere inside schtill, too, runnink around for de generalz—und dere izn’t any townspeople here at all!”

“Demn.” Veaceslav sat back on his heels, looked at the ceiling. “Mebbe dey vos… in de voods?”

“Notting yet,” Dimo answered, looking down at his paper again and not seeing a word of it. “But dot iz vot Oggie iz checking, really, so mebbe—“

“Vot about de Lady,” Veaceslav asked, and his voice was casual in that way that was not casual at all.

Dimo didn’t say anything. He’d been hoping, honestly, that they’d hear something to make him think—someone would say something, or something happened when nobody was paying attention—

They’d all thought it was safest behind the walls, and she’d had other things that needed to be done, administrative things, Dimo had never been on an honor guard before so he had never been around for the details, but he knew there were things that she had needed to do in the Cathedral, in the center of town—

He looked at Veaceslav, and he didn’t say anything.

Veaceslav nodded slowly, and got up. “Hy go und help Ognian, jah? Iz gettink dark out dere.”

“Jah,” Dimo said, hollowly.

“Hy come und tell hyu if ve hear ennyting.”

“Hokay.”

Veaceslav paused in the doorway, as though he wanted to say something else, and sighed, and left.

Dimo went back to his lists. He’d been without a Heterodyne before. He knew how this worked. Do what you can do, and right now what he could do was figure out who was here and what they could do to help.

They’d been so close…

* * *

Maxim skidded back in about three hours later, with  _yet another_ stack of paper.

“Hoy, Dimo,” he started, looking relieved. “Hy vos lookink everyvhere for hyu.”

Dimo’d had to move three times to get out of the way of various squads looking for room, so that wasn’t entirely surprising. They probably needed to inventory what was still in the tunnels at some point, really, and how much room they had, and start assigning—ugh. Wasn’t there an officer who could do this? Dimo’d gotten statuses from three lieutenants, two captains, and a major at this point. Surely one of _them_ could take over _figuring out their supplies_ , right?

“Sorry,” he said, reaching up to rub at his temples. “Dot de right branch?”

“Hm? Vell, sort of,” Maxim said. “Hy couldn’t find enny paper for de first half, und den I see Iosef und he gots some paper und a pen—hy dunno vhy, he can’t vrite Hy don’t tink, but ennyvay den I schtart going back und writink down names und I run into Sarge Wilhelm und he say he already gots vun, und so Hy vos collectink dose und den somevun say dey give it to hyu already. So. Dis is Hy tink half.” He held out the paper. “But hyu should have de odder half alreddy.”

Dimo blinked. “Huh.” Right, Maxim had been an officer himself before he was detached. He probably _did_ think of writing the status down first thing. He took the paper.

“But Hy run into Gabor before, und he vent to check de barrier from the top,” Maxim said, sitting down next to Dimo and looking at his array of reports with vague disinterest. “Iz definitely closed, though. He chust came beck to say.”

“It’s closed from de bottom, too,” Dimo told him, looking through the lists Maxim had collected. Oh, huh, yeah, he didn’t have some of these names. “Und Veaceslav check, und he tink it’s schtill de time de barrier vent op in dere. It hasn’t changed at all.”

He looked up and met Maxim’s eyes, which had just widened like he’d taken a surprise blow to the diaphragm. “…Gott’s leetle fish in trowsers,” he breathed. “Miz Agatha?”

Dimo sighed, and decided to bite the bullet. “Ve vos right,” he told him. “Still inside.” The words were surprisingly difficult to get out. He made a face at himself, and cleared his throat.

“Hyu iz kiddink,” Maxim said, apparently too caught on what Dimo had said to comment on the face. “Ve haz been back _three days_.”

“Yez, vell…”

Maxim let out a stream of curses that Dimo hadn’t heard for about two centuries. He smirked a little and waited for Maxim to be done.

“Cap’n Yakov iz gathering de casualties over in his tunnel,” he said when Maxim stopped for breath. “Hy have a list here ov Jӓgerkin not on hiz list. Hy vos gonna go around und pick dem op, but now Hy have your lists, too.”

Maxim grimaced. “Ah. Sorry. Hy’ll go und get dem moved?”

“Thenks,” Dimo said, and tugged the list out to hand over. “Miz Agatha vill get out, Hy tink,” he said casually, not looking at Maxim while he said it. “Hy mean… she’s verra schmott, und she fix de ting vit her momma, so…”

Maxim looked at him for a while, quiet, and then smiled wryly. His eyes looked about as exhausted as Dimo felt. “Jah, if ennyvun ken get out ov a bubble vhile schtock in time, is Miz Agatha. Hokay, Hy get dese guyz to Yakov.”

He stood up and strode out. Dimo turned his attention back to his brand new pile of paper and got on with reading through it.

Really, he was going to get _someone else_ to inventory the tunnels. He’d had enough paper for the next four decades, at least!

* * *

Captain Yakov had staked out a branch of this mountain’s west tunnel that had up until now largely been used for supplies.

That was good, because it meant that the Jӓgers who were currently spread out on what looked like blankets on the floor had supplies at hand for some pretty spectacular injuries. There had been 43 Jӓgers who had gotten hurt badly enough to make the Captain’s list, by Dimo’s count, and another 12 that Dimo’d found in the lists and sent Maxim after.

He’d done a sweep himself of Maxim’s group, and found another four. They’d already gotten some medical attention at that point, though, so he just wrote their names and locations down and left them to their squad mates, all of whom had somehow pulled booze out of the ether and were attempting to be distracting, with excellent results.

Anyway, once Dimo had gotten those names down, he headed to Yakov’s alcove to report. He figured if an officer _wanted_ to take some of the list making on his own shoulders, Dimo sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him. In fact, he could take all of the list making. All of it. Dimo was willing to hand the whole thing over right now and maybe go take advantage of that beer he’d just seen being passed around.

Also, he had serious concerns about whoever thought it was a good idea to give Iwan a job that required any form of writing at all, but that was _definitely_ not his problem and he was happy to stay the hell out of it.

Yakov was exactly where Dimo vaguely expected him to be, which was a first since he’d started trying to make a list of Jӓgers. He was perched precariously on a barrel, which was pretty funny at first glance since he was about as wide as it was tall and _not_ disproportionate, hat pushed back at an angle so that he could see across the whole room, essentially directing traffic as a bunch of relatively healthy Jӓgers dashed from injured Jӓger to injured Jӓger, giving whatever field medicine was available.

The place stank of blood, and a quick count showed that the number on the list had gone from 43 to 36. There was a pile of mangled limbs in a corner from amputations. Dimo pulled his own hat down further and turned away.

Yakov himself had a blanket thrown over his legs and a pile of paper resting on top of them. (The blanket was some sort of brown color, and didn’t do much for Yakov’s gray complexion, which tended to look a bit sickly at the best of times -- not that Dimo could talk. He’d once had an out-of-towner take one look at him and run screaming about monsters the color of bile. Good times…) When he caught sight of Dimo, he sat up from where he was leaning on the wall and made a face. “Hy hope hyu iz here to giff a verbal report, Hy iz running out of lap.”

“Heh, chust vun page,” Dimo assured him, handing it over. “Hyu say hyu vant to know who is seriously injured. Dot iz vot Hy ken find. Maxim iz finding de first twelve, und Hy check de last four. Dey should be fine vere dey iz, but mebbe somevun should go und check on dem again et some point.”

“Goot, goot,” Yakov said, obviously scanning the page. “Jah, Maxim bring four ov dese boyz in already, Spiro und Gebhard iz over in dot corner dere.” He pointed. Dimo turned to look, and sure enough there were two Jӓgers piled in the corner, one leaning on the other, both of them bandaged up and apparently asleep.

“Vot odder news?” Yakov asked, leaning back to rest against the wall again. “Hy heff some reports from pipple going in und out, but Hy iz schtuck in here since ve come in und de rumors iz getting vild.”

“Vot hyu hear?” Dimo asked, wondering how much of it was variations on what he knew already and how much was completely made up to make things sound more interesting.

“Mm. Hy tink de most relevant iz dot de tunnels iz blocked und de Mistress izn’t here.” Yakov paused. “Also vun about dere beink no booze, but Hy dun believe dot vun, Hy know who schtocked dese tunnels und dere is no vay.”

Dimo snorted. “Jah, dere is definitely at least beer,” he told him. “Hy heff seen it vit mine own eyes.”

“Ho, goot. Hy send somevun to get some,” Yakov said, grinning.

Dimo smirked back, and then sighed and reached up to scratch the back of his head. “De tunnels rumor iz true,” he admitted. “Ve dun know for _sure_ vere Miz Agatha iz, but… vell, dere’s no reason for her to not heff been in de town vhen de barrier go up. Also, Veaceslav go to check, und…” he hesitated, looking at Yakov. Yakov looked back, grave. “Und ve tink,” Dimo said slowly, “dot de barrier keeps de time inside de same as it vas ven it go op. No movement at all, und Veaceslav say de shadows are wrong.”

Yakov cursed, and closed his eyes, reaching up to take off his hat and wipe his forehead before shoving it back on. “So iz madboy shit, den. Vell, ov course it vas, vot else could en inexplicable barrier dot cut tings in half be.”

“Mm.”

“So dot means novun inside iz gon be any help, den?”

“Not unless dere iz some part dot iz not frozen, but…”

“But ve heff no reason to tink dot’s possible,” Yakov finished, and sighed.

Dimo hesitated, not sure what else to say. “Ve heff Ognian und Veaceslav out dere vit some odders, checkink de voods und de odder armies’ positions und all,” he offered tentatively, “und Hy heff de status ov efferyvun in here now, so dot’s goot. Hy vos tinkink dot ve needed to know vot all iz in here, odder den Jӓgerkin, but hyu say hyu know who did de schtocking?”

Yakov smirked, eyes still closed. “Jah. Hyu go und schpeak to Anatoli, he tell hyu vot iz vhere. He did de inventories about a hundert years ago efter dot polar var lord come trough, hyu know, vit de—“

“Jah, vit de bears,” Dimo said, and snorted. “Hokay, Hy go und talk to him. Ennyting else?”

“Mm…” Yakov said. “If hyu could vatch de room for a bit, Hy tink Hy chust ran out ov juice.” And, to Dimo’s surprise, he started listing to the side and off the barrel, like he was a puppet and someone had suddenly cut his strings.

Dimo lunged. The papers and blanket went flying, revealing, disturbingly, that the underside was saturated in blood. Why that was became obvious once Dimo looked down at the Jӓger he’d somehow managed to catch one-handed without sending them both onto the stone floor head-first and saw that Yakov had one bleeding stump, tourniquetted inexpertly, and another leg that looked like it had been crushed and, in the hours since, had started to fester.

“ _Gotterdamerung_ ,” Dimo swore, and laid the captain out on the floor. “ _Somevun get a blade und get dot off, now!_ ”

Faddei ran over, broadsword in hand, and sliced the limb off clean in one strike. Yakov screamed and then went limp. Faddei reached over and tightened the tourniquet on the first leg grimly, pulled off his own belt and tightened it on the newer stump.

“Battledraught?” Dimo asked, carefully lowering the Captain down and looking around for something to prop his lower body up to stop the bleeding.

“He’s alreddy took too much,” Faddei told him grimly. “Hy vos here ven dey bring him in here, und… vell. Somevun needed to lead, und he vos schtill—“

Dimo sighed. “Hy see.”

“Hy been tryink to get him off dot demn barrel for three hours,” Faddei insisted, rolling up the blood soaked blanket and using it to prop up the Captain’s stumps. “He kept sayink he vos fine, und…”

“Dere vere odder Jӓgers who veren’t,” Dimo said. “Jah, Hy get hyu.”

“Eediot,” Faddei muttered, and Dimo wasn’t sure if he meant Yakov or himself.

It was hard to say if he agreed, too. Yakov had been sort of right, even if he’d also obviously been very, very wrong. They were going to need someone who really could lead soon, had needed someone to organize _this room_ in particular. It just… really shouldn’t have been Yakov.

Dimo had no idea who it should have been.

“ _Move_ ,” snapped a feminine voice he didn’t recognize from the door, and Dimo turned in time to see a human woman, maybe 50 or 60, come barreling in armed with five rolls of bandages and what looked like five, maybe six bottles of vodka. “You,” she snapped, pointing at Darius, who’d jumped up from the Jӓger he was bandaging in surprise. “Take this.” She thrust a bottle into his hand. “Sterilize that bandage before you put it on. Let’s get these Jӓgers off the ground, you’re asking for stone in your wounds, all of you! You! Tighten up that bandage. That needs stitches. I have a needle and thread somewhere—“

Dimo blinked, and slowly stood up. “…Um?”

“Olga Vasilescu,” the woman told him shortly. “I’m a nurse at the hospital. Went to visit family, came back to this mess. I won’t do the procedures myself, sit down and stop having a heart attack.”

Dimo was not having a heart attack. In fact, Dimo was pretty sure he was going to kiss this woman. And then propose marriage. Well, no, Jӓgers couldn’t marry, but the thought was there.

“Hy izn’t a patient,” he told her.

“Well then get up and take some bandages!”

“Ectually…” Oggie said timidly from the door, obviously laughing. “He iz, ah, kind ov de guy mekink de decis—“

“Schot op, Oggie,” Dimo interrupted. “Dis is Captain Yakov. He vos managing de casualty list, bot he ken’t ennymore. Ken hyu—“

“I already did, young man,” Olga interrupted, and Dimo decided not to correct her on the fact that he had to be at least six times her age. “If you’re supposed to be doing something else get out of my infirmary.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dimo said, and left before he could give into the urge to salute.

The first thing he did was punch Oggie in the head. “Mekink de decisions mine left buttock! Hy iz _not_ making decisions, schtop telling pipple dot.”

“Ow,” Oggie said from the floor, and snickered. “Yez, yez, Hy chust mean hyu vos coordinating tings. Schpeaking ov vhich, surprise, ve have refugees!”

“Hy noticed,” Dimo said wryly, and Oggie picked himself up and dusted himself off.

“Jah, iz about ten townspipple so far. Veaceslav iz schtill out dere doink anodder sveep, but ve tink dot’s it for de night. Ve should go beck out tomorrow und see if enny more come in, though.”

“Makes sense,” Dimo agreed. “Ve see ennyting about de odder armies?”

“Schtill dere,” Oggie said negligently, “but Hy izn’t close enough to get a goot look. Ve find Miz Zeetha, though, she can tell you better.”

Dimo stared, and then punched Ognian in the arm.

“ _Ow_ , hoy--!”

“Vhy didn’t hyu say dot _first_ ,” Dimo snapped, and reached up to rub his temples again.

“Vell, Hy figured de refugees vos more important,” Oggie said, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly. “Ve _know_ Miz Zeetha ken take care of herself in a var zone, after all.”

That… actually made sense. Dimo sighed. “Jah, hokay, makes sense. Vere iz she?”

“Um, vell, she iz supposed to be vit de townspipple, but so vos Olga, so…”

“Oggie, Dimo,” Maxim called, rounding a corner while supporting an injured Jӓger with one arm. Zeetha was on the Jӓger’s other side, looking grim. “Look who Hy find!”

Dimo turned to give Oggie a look. Oggie scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish again. Dimo sighed. “Right,” he said. “Let’s get him inside, und go from dere.”

* * *

Zeetha was a godsend. She helped Oggie and Maxim drag the Jӓgers who needed to be moved to the area already being called “Frau Olga’s infirmary,” she found Anatoli (a feat, since she had no idea what Anatoli looked like and there were something like fifteen hundred Jӓgers currently in these tunnels) and got him to show her where the food was (and the booze, sweet, wonderful booze), and then she helped Dimo track down all the refugees (other than Olga) and return them to the (actually very safe and convenient) room Oggie had left them in, and stood behind him nodding seriously while he impressed upon them the fact that they  _really needed to stay there_ , for real this time, at least until the army sorted itself out.

And after that she helped Dimo find a quiet corner (actually a supply closet, but Dimo was so far beyond being picky right now he couldn’t even see picky anymore) and pulled a bottle of brandy out of thin air just for him. Zeetha had officially become Dimo’s favorite of Agatha’s companions, was what Dimo was saying. She was without a doubt the best of the lot.

“Hy iz not sure Hy really vant to know dis, but is dere a reason vhy hyu vas not in Mechanicsburg vhen de barrier vent op?” Dimo asked, as he held the bottle between his knees and stabbed the seal with a claw. “Hy is definitely not complaining, mind hyu. Dot vos a big help, dese eediots iz like herding cats. Mine hat off to ennyvun who has to do dis for their job, Hy have de vorst headache und Hy vos chust makink a list.”

Zeetha snorted, watching with vague interest as Dimo pried the seal off and took a large swallow straight from the bottle. _Oh, alcohol_ , Dimo thought (far more sincerely than he was willing to admit even to himself), _how I have longed for thee_. “Oh, I was with Higgs. We ended up in a war clank retreating out of town, and didn’t notice until there was a halt about halfway back to Wulfenbach.”

“Ha,” Dimo said, lowering the bottle so he could give her a wide grin. “Und vot vere hyu und our Meester Higgs _doink_ in de var clenk, hmmmm?”

Zeetha grinned back, completely without shame, and swiped his brandy right out of his hand.

“ _Hoy_!”

“Share and share alike,” Zeetha sang, and took a big swallow before passing it back.

“No thenks,” Dimo said, eyeing the brandy. “Hy izn’t really eenterested in dot type ov ting vit Higgs. Goot for hyu, though.”

Zeetha cracked up. Dimo turned away from her and took another swallow before tucking the brandy on his other side, away from grabby hands.

“Vhere _iz_ Higgs,” he asked, once Zeetha had finished snickering. “Ve could _really_ use him here, de Generalz iz all schtock behind de barrier, so far as ve ken tell.”

“Hm?” Zeetha said, trying to stealthily reach for the brandy. Dimo bent a leg to block her, narrowing his eyes half-jokingly. She stuck her tongue out and subsided. “Why would you need Higgs? He… wait, does this have to do with whatever he’s hiding?” Zeetha suddenly looked very interested, turning towards him with a distinctly hunting look.

_Shit_ , Dimo thought, and backtracked. “He seems like de type ov guy who vould be goot et leadership, iz all,” he told her, which was absolutely true and Dimo had no idea how she could fault him. “Plus, depending on vot Wulfenbach decidez to do now, ve may need heem. He has a different point of view on Wulfenbach den de rest ov us, hyu know?”

Zeetha didn’t look like she’d bought that even a little, but she subsided anyway, leaning back against the wall and sighing. “He didn’t come. When we realized that Wulfenbach had retreated, and that something had ordered Wulfenbach to _stop_ retreating, he thought it’d be better to head back to Castle Wulfenbach. He thinks it’s important to have a man inside.”

_Fuck having a man inside_ , Dimo thought but absolutely didn’t say. _We need someone HERE_. He took another swig of brandy vengefully, letting it burn down his throat. Damn Higgs, anyway. He just didn’t want to get stuck running the entire Jӓger army, probably.

Not that Dimo could blame him, mind, but he wasn’t in the mood to be particularly fair at the moment.

Wait. “Something schtopped Wulfenbach’s retreat?” he asked carefully. Zeetha raised an eyebrow at him, but very nicely didn’t comment on him being a bit late to noticing that part.

“Mm. Orders from Castle Wulfenbach, definitely.” She leaned forward, face going all serious, the way it had when they’d been in Sturmhalten and she was about to tell them nobody had seen or heard of Agatha at any point that night. “We managed to figure out that much before Higgs had to go back and I had to escape. When I snuck out and headed to the woods, it looked like they were mobilizing for another push at the town. Which, obviously, that has to be wrong. From what I hear and what I saw in the distance, there’s no real way to _get_ to the town right now.”

“De town is frozen,” Dimo told her. “Und efferyvun on de odder side of de barrier vit it. It’s enclosed from de bottom, too, so dere’s no vay back inside.” He saw the exact moment she got the implication, and passed her the brandy wordlessly. She took a long pull, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“…Well, if anyone can get herself out of this mess, it’s my Zumil,” Zeetha said firmly, handing Dimo back the brandy. “In the meantime, all we can do is keep abreast of the situation and keep as many of her people alive as we can.”

“…Ve _are_ her pipple,” Dimo pointed out wryly.

Zeetha looked at him, surprised, and then she grinned. “Well, yes, but our roles are different. I am her kolee, and you’re the Jӓger who found her and brought her home.”

“…Ah, ectually…”

“Well, you’re the only one anyone would trust with anything even remotely important, anyway,” Zeetha said, waving casually. “I’m not sure Maxim and Oggie are really up to this type of thing.”

“…Hy vouldn’t say dot either,” Dimo said, thinking of Oggie’s very well-reasoned choice of reporting priorities and room choice for the refugees, and Maxim’s surprising practicality when it came to gathering statuses for something like 500 Jӓgers, “but Hy vos ectually goink to say _she_ found _us_.”

Zeetha snorted, and then got up, dusting herself off. “Then hold down the fort until she finds you again!”

Dimo looked up at Zeetha, hands on her hips, smirking down at him with that sharp, toothy grin, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Hy vos alreddy doing dot,” he said, “but thenks for de permission.”

Zeetha snickered. “Any time,” she said. “Now, someone needs to set up regular patrols of the area. If Wulfenbach attacks, we need to know they’re going to do it!”

“…See,” Dimo said. “Dis is vot Hy mean. Becaws for dot hyu should probably go und talk to Ognian. Und Veaceslav, Hy dunno if hyu meet him, he vos doink anodder sveep, Oggie says.”

“Got it,” Zeetha told him. “I’ll let you know once we’ve figured out who’s doing what.”

“No,” Dimo said. “Hy said _talk to Oggie_ , Hy isn’t making de patrol team, Hy is chust keeping de list of statuses.”

“Wouldn’t what someone’s doing be a part of the status, though?”

“Schot op und leave me to mine brandy,” Dimo absolutely didn’t whine, and, laughing, Zeetha did.

* * *

Refugees trickled into the caves over the course of the next two weeks: men, women, even children who had left town for a few days to visit family or friends or for business and come back to find their families and friends frozen in time behind an impenetrable barrier. Dimo blinked, and suddenly the civilians had been allocated rooms (as had all the Jӓgers), and someone had set up a series of patrols outside to make sure nobody accidentally ended up stumbling into one of the two hostile armies sitting at their gates.

He’d somehow ended up the official keeper of statuses, too, so he’d had to be involved in the choosing, if only to check that the Jӓgers being assigned could actually take a shift. For whatever reason, this meant Jӓgers kept coming in post-shift to report to Dimo.

It also meant they kept bringing him the civilians, like _Dimo_ had any idea what to do with them once they were here.

All of that meant that when Maxim walked in at the beginning of the third week, Dimo had a ten-year-old Mechanicsburger under one arm and was, once again, attempting to impress upon the kid’s hassled-looking mother that she really _shouldn’t_ let the boy leave the room without an escort.

“Look, dis time he vos inside a machine dot de masters made,” Dimo was telling her, as the boy squirmed unhappily to be put down. “Hy hev no idea how he got into it because it vos still bolted firmly closed, but dere he vos inside. Ve had to break it open to get him out, und dere’s novun who ken fix it here right now.”

“What did the machine do?” the mother asked, completely missing the point _yet again_. Dimo was starting to think the woman was a bit stupid.

“Hy have no idea,” Dimo told her, “und it doesn’t matter ennymore, because ve hed to _break it open to get him out_.”

“Why on earth did you need to do that?” the mother asked. “He had to have gotten in somehow, why didn’t you just reverse the process?”

Maxim cleared his throat politely.

“Hold on,” Dimo told him distractedly.

“Holding,” Maxim said cheerfully. “But hyu may vant to hurry op, Hy tink Meester Ponch iz gonna fall over soon.”

Dimo turned to stare at him. Maxim grinned cheerfully back.

Whirling, Dimo thrust the ten-year-old into his mother’s arms, and with a shouted _“don’t let heem vander around anymore_ ” he dashed over to Maxim and out the door. Maxim kept pace.

“Ve find dem out near de touch-down point for Wulfenbach,” Maxim told him, obvious delight under the same shock Dimo was reeling in. He took the lead, which only made sense considering Dimo had no idea where they were going, winding around other Jӓgers towards where they’d seen fit to stash their Mistress’s _adoptive parents, god’s little fish in trousers_. “Dey dun look like dere vas a struggle to escape, bot dey iz both schtill preddy veak, so Hy dunno if ve’d be able to tell.”

“Miz Agatha say dey vos ripped apart,” Dimo bit out, keeping pace. “Hy is _not_ surprised dey iz not in goot shape. How iz dey alive at _all_ , iz de question.”

“ _Hy_ didn’t ask,” Maxim said. “Ve see dem und chust bring dem here! Wulfenbach troops could heff been dere enny moment, und dey really _iz_ still hurt Hy tink. Not a goot place for pipple who can’t fight right now, _at all_. Dere vosn’t time to play tventy questions!”

“Did somevun call Frau Olga?” Dimo asked.

“Ov course,” Maxim answered, disdainful. “Hy izn’t _schtupid_ , Hy send Costicâ for her first ting. She should alreddy be dere by now, ektually. Hy had some trouble finding hyu.”

“Hy vos chasink dot keed,” Dimo complained. “Hy svear, Master Declinatio had de right idea, vit de magnetizing de cheeldren. Ven ve gets Miz Agatha back Hy iz goink to suggest—“

“Whoops, here,” Maxim said, and turned sharply, using a doorframe to propel himself into a room. Dimo spun on a heel and practically fell after him, mostly making it through the door on momentum and not falling on his face through a combination of sheer willpower and the fact that he ran smack into Maxim’s back.

Maxim also managed to stay on his feet, which Dimo found significantly more impressive than his own efforts.

“Oof,” Maxim said, and turned to give Dimo a wounded look. “Ow! Vot vos dot for?”

“Sorry,” Dimo said, rubbing his nose and squeezing his eyes shut so they wouldn’t water. “Overcompensateed.”

“Oh, vell. Mine fault, den,” Maxim said. “Hy overshot.”

Dimo grunted in agreement, blinked a few times to clear his vision, and then took in the rest of the room.

Olga had indeed gotten there before them. She was leaning over Judy, who was propped up against a wall and smiling thinly at the other woman, pale and pinched like she was in pain. Olga was taking Judy’s pulse, one hand on Judy’s wrist and fingers of the other on her own neck, a frown on her face like she didn’t approve of whatever she was finding. Punch was sitting next to Judy, looking equally pale and exhausted, eyes worried.

Maxim had been right, actually; Punch _did_ look like he was more likely to pass out at this point than Judy did. They probably hadn’t really been ready to be moved—Dimo started forward.

He was halfway across the room before he realized that he actually had no idea what to do or say to them once he got over there. Which wasn’t actually a realization that stopped him going, but was definitely something of a concern.

It turned out to be a moot issue, because Judy spoke first. “Hello, Dimo,” she said, with a thin smile. “It has been a while. How has your knitting been going?”

Dimo’s knitting had been going _very badly_ recently, in that he was currently down one arm, and had done exactly no knitting since being detached, regardless. Yarn, it turned out, was a bit difficult to carry when one was constantly on the move and had no home base to stash it in. The knitting needles had turned out to be pretty good back-up weapons when necessary, though.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dimo saw Maxim still, as though honing in on a target, and turn to look at Dimo with a face that suggested mild interest and a look in his eye that promised painful teasing for the next forever. Dimo ignored him.

“Iz goot,” he lied, coming to a stop and shoving his hand in his pocket casually. “Hy pick op some interesting patternz on de road not too long ago. Hy vould have keept dem for hyu, except ve hear dot hyu vos deesmembered recently. Seems dot may have been exaggerated, though.”

Olga huffed and turned to glare at him, opened her mouth to say something (probably something along the lines of “if you are going to distract my patients uselessly get out of my examination room”—it was becoming a bit of a regular exchange with them), but Punch interrupted her before she could.

“Yeah,” he said, voice scratchy from lack of use and stilted, like he was forcing out the words. “Got… bett-er.”

Dimo actually jumped, whirled, arm ripping out of his pocket to flail in surprise. “Hyu— _hyu izn’t supposed to be able to do dot_ ,” he definitely didn’t shriek, pointing at Punch in case there was any chance someone could misinterpret who he was talking to.

Behind him, Maxim cracked up, doubled over. Punch laughed too, a low, gravelly belly laugh, tinged with exhaustion and stuttering with pained wheezes.

“Mr. Clay,” Olga said, spinning, “we discussed this, you are to speak as little as possible until your endurance improves!” Punch chuckled and waved her off, slumping further against the wall.

Judy smiled at Dimo, the thin, tired upturn of her lips now slightly teasing. “Yes, we were killed a little while ago. Klaus’s boy says we are making a remarkable recovery.”

“Hy’ll say!” Dimo said, hand pushing up his hat to clutch at his hair, but the sudden good humor was contagious and he found himself snickering along. Olga rolled her eyes at the lot of them, and stood up, dusting off her knees.

“Bed rest,” she told her newest patients firmly. “Don’t let Dimo interrogate you, you need to sleep!”

“Hy vosn’t—“ Dimo began, jumping to his own defense.

“You were and are,” Olga grumped, hands on her hips. “Not tonight.”

“Thank you for your help, Olga,” Judy said, and Olga turned away from Dimo to send a slightly less forbidding expression Judy’s way.

“No trouble at all, Mrs. Clay. I’m happy to help.” She smiled. “ _Particularly_ patients who do not have moral objections to me examining them. That is going to become a problem sooner rather than later, I suspect.” She shook her head. “It is nice to see you both again. I suspect Master Bill and Master Barry would have been happy to hear the Baron’s son looked after you. I’ll be back in the morning. Have a good night.”

Olga strode past Dimo and around Maxim (ignoring Maxim’s “G’night, Frau Olga,” and hat tip, because she was a lady of refinement and taste), and then she was gone, purposeful stride likely carrying her off to bully some poor soul into assisting her in bullying the entirety of the tunnel’s residents into taking care of themselves. Dimo snorted, and turned back to their guests.

“So,” he began.

“So,” Judy echoed. “You heard about our run-in with Von Pinn. Was it Agatha who told you?”

_Oh, here we go_ , Dimo thought, heart sinking.

“Ho, look et de time!” Maxim exclaimed loudly, looking up at the ceiling as though checking the position of the sun. “Hy iz late to Oggie. Hy mean to vash mine hair. Und Oggie’s hair. Hy iz verra late und must go, iz vot Hy mean. Nize to see you!”

“Hoy,” Dimo shouted at his retreating back. That traitor…

“Something…happen…to Agatha?” Punch asked. Dimo sighed and turned back to Punch and Judy. Damn, they looked worried.

Well, they should be.

“Jah,” he said, and walked over to sit in front of them. “Iz a bit of a long schtory…”

* * *

It was another two days before Olga declared Punch and Judy fit enough for light bouts of activity. Dimo only found out because Punch wandered into the small corner of the supply closet Dimo had gone with Zeetha that first day, and which he had since set up to be the Place of the Paperwork, and asked, very politely, if there was perhaps something for them to do. Dimo, who had decided to give them a little space after having to explain to them that he’d managed to lose their adopted daughter behind a time barrier in the town she’d only just claimed as her own, was a bit surprised the man was still talking to him.

“Um, yes! Yez, ve haff plenty,” he said. “Ve… vell, Hy haff a leest of machines dot dun vork right now, iffen hyu vant to take a look at dose… Giff me vun minute, though,” he said, and turned back to Tymon, who he’d been talking to when Punch arrived.

“Hokay…” he looked back down at the patrol map that’d been drawn up last week, frowning. “Hy get vot hyu iz sayink, but iffen ve move dot patrol vest to cover de runvay den ve dun haff ennyvun vatchink de clank drop-off, und dere’s been more activity dere recently.”

“Hy iz tellink hyu,” Tymon insisted, shifting from one foot to the other absently and stabbing the paper with a finger, “It only seems like dot becaws is farther avay, so it takes longer for us to respond. Dey iz droppink soldiers in our backyard vit dis runway, Dimo, ve need somevun in place to run a message ven dey finally send troops down in a serious push.”

The runway in question was about twenty miles away in the valley between one of the mountains housing their tunnels and another mountain that the Heterodynes had used to mine valuable materials about a century ago. The mine itself was long since depleted, of course, and didn’t connect to the tunnel network in any rate, and the valley had a fast-moving river running through it—deep and cold from snow run-off, and surrounded on all sides by sheer rocky cliff faces, making it hard to move more than one person at a time. It was a terrible location for a runway—cut off on all sides and far away from any resources.

Wulfenbach had built a dam for the river, flooding half the valley and diverting the current off and down one of the cliffs, and built a runway into the old riverbed. Dimo could only assume they’d thought the mine might hold something valuable, and were too far along in the process of building when they realized they were mistaken. In fact, the only thing of relative value around was the Jӓger base itself, and Wulfenbach _should_ have no idea they were there.

“De fact dot de odder iz chust further avay doesn’t mean ve don’t need pipple vatching it,” Dimo insisted. “Dis runvay iz closer, but dey iz using it less regular right now. Ve can’t chust—“

“Dere’s no vay hyu iz tellink me ve can’t find _somevun_ bored enough to take a solitary patrol durink dis time,” Tymon interrupted, crossing his arms in emphasis. “Iz three hourz, Dimo, Hy promise dere is some Jӓger in dese tunnelz who vill sacrifice hiz spare time to mek sure ve know ven Wulfenbach lands troops tventy miles avay from base. Here, Hy go out into dis tunnel right now und find somevun. Vill be easy, Hy chust say ‘ennyvun vant someting to do dot izn’t eatink, schleeping, or cards.’ Dey vill _line op_.”

Dimo snorted. It was true, actually, but-- “Jah, und instead ov runnink de message back, dey vill attack demselves,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “Ve can’t chust—“

“No, vait, iz hyu tryink dot argument for _real_ ,” Tymon interrupted. “Hyu? Really? Becawz hyu iz vun to _talk_.” Tymon leaned forward to grin point blank into Dimo’s face. “Hy remember in de campaign against Varlord Khan de Many-Horsed, hyu—“

“ _Dot_ iz vhy Hy know sendink somevun alone is a _bad hydea_ ,” Dimo interrupted firmly. “Dis iz called _learnink from past experience_ , Tymon, iz someting efferyvun in dis tunnel could learn to do better.”

“Fah,” Tymon said dismissively, snickering, and leaned back. “Goot luck vit _dot_ vun.”

Dimo snorted. “Schtill,” he said, returning to the subject at hand. “Hyu iz right, ve _do_ need somevun dere. Iz chust…” he frowned at the patrol map again. “Ve ken’t reroute from de clanks. Ve lost dose villagerz dere de odder day, becawz ve couldn’t get dere fast enough. Veaceslav hed to move some Jӓgers from mannink de _base_ to effen get dem dere. Ve haff too big an area to cover here, und not enough healthy Jӓgers to do it.”

“Mm,” Tymon agreed, suddenly… quieter, more serious. “How’s Petia,” he asked, referring to the sergeant who’d sent someone running back to base and then attempted to slow the Wulfenbach clanks capturing Mechanicsburgers himself. Dimo pulled a face.

“He schtill hazn’t gots feelink on hiz left side,” Dimo said, “und Olga say he iz schtarting to haff bad reaction from too much battle draught. But on de plus side, he gots a new hat.”

“Heh.” Tymon scratched at his ear. “Iz a nize hat, Hy saw it ven Hy go check on Stanimir de odder day. Und Hy hear de clank pilot’s face vos verra fonny ven he rip hisself out ov de mechanism und punch de guy in de face.”

Dimo cracked a grin. “Jah, bot de point schtands—ve dun haff de manpower to be in all dese places at vunce. Hm…” He frowned, and then checked on Punch, who was waiting very quietly and politely by the supply closet door. “Mebbe take dis und go und talk to Oggie, und mebbe Jenka, too. Hy tink she iz corralling de runners vit Gobar now, mebbe dey haff a better idea who ken go.”

“Hrm, jah, hokay,” Tymon agreed, following Dimo’s eyes and then taking the map. “Hy come back und tell hyu ven ve haff an hydea.”

“Jah, hokay,” Dimo agreed, standing up and stretching the kinks out of his back. Really, he needed a chair or something, but he was hoping if he didn’t get an actual set-up to do this that it would eventually somehow go away. He socked Tymon on the shoulder as a goodbye, and got socked back, before walking over to Punch. “Sorry about dot. Hyu vant Hy take hyu to de first machine now? ”

“Sounds good,” Punch said, smiling cheerfully, and then cleared his throat again. “Anything—I can… do, really… I’m bored, just sitting…a-round.”

“Hyu throat sounds better now,” Dimo told him, leading the way down the hallway to the first of the machine rooms they’d uncovered.

“Olga says it—will take practice,” Punch told him. “Mind…if I…tal-k at you?”

“Ho! No, iz fine, go ahead,” Dimo agreed, raising an eyebrow. “De firscht vun iz trough here.”

Three hours later, he really regretted agreeing.

“And then…the clank spasmed—and Lilith shrieked like—like the world was ending, and I grabbed the—front leg and…oh, here, this—is the problem.” Punch pulled at a wire, deftly connecting it to a fuze. The entire machine sprang to sparking, hissing life. “Huh. What—was this supp-osed to do?”

“Ah,” Dimo said, startled out of the stupor he’d fallen into after the first hour of stories about domestic shenanigans in Beetleburg. He eyed the machine, trying to remember… oh. “Dis vun iz supposed to be a…map, sort of. It iz supposed to show a spahceefic area like hyu iz vatching a picture dot moves.” Which would be super useful, if the damn thing hadn’t nearly exploded any time someone had tried to turn it on before this.

Punch made a neutral noise of acknowledgement, and pulled a lever. Something sparked behind Dimo on the table-thing in the center of the room. Dimo whirled, eyes wide, already shifting his weight to tackle Punch if the thing tried to shoot lightning at them, and—

For just a second, there was a huge valley projected onto the metal surface, empty but for a lone rabbit hopping its way across the expanse, and what looked like a solitary Wulfenbach patrol clank stomping its way through the knee-deep snow, before the machine made an impressive sizzling sound and the whole thing went dark, the smell of burnt wires permeating the room.

Punch made the hmmm noise again. “Getting over-loaded. Maybe a n-ew fuse. Ah--Dimo?”

God, but Dimo loved the Heterodynes. Every last crazy-ass one of them. Brilliant magnificent bastards to a man. He stared at where the projection had been, and knew he was grinning too wide to look quite sane. “Dot iz de best ting,” he breathed, and then spun to eye the levers with new enthusiasm. “Hyu ken get it vorkink?”

“Think so,” Punch told him, already neck deep in the mechanism again.

“ _Great_ ,” Dimo said, with relish. “Hy go und tell pipple. Ve’ll be able to see _efferyting_ , dot is _so useful_. Ken it see de touch-down point for Wulfenbach?”

“Hm… think… so, yes.”

Dimo grinned. Excellent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that there is now only three projected chapters for this fic. This is because the easiest place to cut this does not leave enough room for four chapters. Instead, Chapter Three will be about 3k longer than the other chapters. I feel this is likely acceptable.

They set up shifts in front of the projector machine, of course, once Punch got it running and gave everyone a crash course in how it worked ten or eleven times. It was still a crap shoot whether the particular Jӓger manning the projector would remember how to get the picture they wanted on the first try, but overall the machine proved relatively easy to use, for one of the Heterodynes’ Spark works.

Dimo found himself taking about a third of the shifts himself. He wasn’t sure how it happened to be honest. Something to do with how small and boring and uncomfortable the supply closet was, combined with a growing vague concern as Wulfenbach set down more and more clanks, surrounding their town in metal and what was beginning to look disturbingly like a stone wall, and as the Knights of Jove began pushing back from Balan’s Gap, like they had a right to the valley at all, like they ever had.

Restlessness. He was feeling restless. Mrgh.

A month passed, and another began. More patrols went out. Dimo sat at the projector with his damn lists and worry crawling vaguely up his spine and making his back tense and his skin feel tight and his legs restless and… waited. For something.

Dimo was in the projector room one day, watching the same _damn_ stretch of empty field and surrounding forest, headache throbbing in his temples and papers perched precariously on an upturned bucket and ignored for the sake of his continued _sanity_ sitting at his feet, when one of the civilians poked his head in and cleared his throat, uncertainly.

Dimo was really not in the mood to deal with civilians, honestly, but these days they didn’t seem willing to go talk to anyone else. He sighed. “Jah, vot.”

“Um… sorry to disturb you,” the man said, and rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I… was told you were the one to talk to if we… had questions about supplies?”

Who told him that. Dimo was going to punch their face in. “Hyu vant to look et de inventory, be mine guest,” he told him, turning back to the projector in a way he hoped was dismissive. “In dere somevhere.”

The man hesitated, and then apparently remembered that he was born and raised in Mechanicsburg and therefore _definitely_ had a spine and stepped forward to rifle through the pile. Dimo waited until he was pretty sure the civilian had found the inventory lists and put the rest back before tuning him out again.

He wasn’t sure what the guy was looking for, really, but Dimo seriously doubted he’d find it. The tunnels had been stocked with a few months in mind, a Jӓger platoon at most, under the assumption that Mechanicsburg would continue to supply if a campaign from this area went longer than that. Most of the army was here, though, and a small but slowly growing portion of the town, and while the Jӓgers would be okay for a while without food they wouldn’t be okay _forever_ , and the humans wouldn’t be okay without it at all—

“Um, sir?”

Dimo shook himself, head throbbing, and turned to look at the human.

“Did hyu chust call me _sir_?” he asked, surprised.

“Um… well I was just—“

“Hy iz not a sir,” Dimo told him, frankly. “Hy izn’t ennyting, ectually, but Hy vosn’t effen a sir ven Hy _hed a rank_.”

“Oh,” the man said, shoulders hunching, “I didn’t mean—“

“Wow,” Dimo said. “Vot iz dey _teachink_ in Mechanicsburg dese dayz. Look, hyu iz really gonna offend somevun vit dot if hyu iz not careful. Only commeesioned officers iz sir. Efferyvun else iz votevffer dot guy’z rank iz. But really, hyu should chust use _names_.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said again, “really, very sorry, didn’t mean to offend—“

“Hyu deedn’t—“ Dimo sighed. “Iz hyu leestening or panickink. Pick vun, becawz mine head hurtz und Hy iz not in de mood to try to figure it out mineself.”

“Listening,” the human said shrilly. “Very sorry. Definitely listening. I. Soap?”

Dimo stared at him, temples giving an especially strong throb. “Soap?” he repeated.

“Soap. I was. We’re out of soap?”

“Iz hyu askink me or tellink me,” Dimo asked, hearing his voice go flat and not really caring too much.

“I… guess I’m telling you?” the human said. “It’s just… we ran out a week ago, and, um, we’ve been asking but nobody knows—“ He trailed off.

Dimo gave a slow blink, and didn’t say anything. The civilian was starting to smell a little nervous. More nervous. Hrmph.

The other guy gulped, and then in an extremely good example of someone with no sense of self-preservation, kept talking. “They said to ask you if there was any more, but—the list doesn’t show it anywhere else—“

“Jah,” Dimo said, and knew there was no inflection in his voice anymore, and _didn’t care_. “Dot iz becawz soap iz not on our leest of prioreetieez.” He leaned back against the table, propped his feet up on the lists. “Do hyu know,” he asked casually, “chust how many pipple dere iz to feed in here?”

“Um—I… it…”

“Guess,” Dimo ordered. Huh, he was growling a bit. He felt sort of detached, honestly. Probably the headache.

“I…um… about…well, most of the Jӓger army…”

“Feefteen-hundret und tventy-tree Jӓgermonsters,” Dimo told him, slowly. The growl intensified. “Und fourty-eight civeelienz.” He let his feet slide off the pile and hit the floor, leaned towards the idiot, who gulped. “Now, da boyz goink out, dey iz lookink for tings to _feed_ dose pipple. Und dey iz lookink for _suppliez_ to use to _defend_ dose pipple. How high a prioreety,” he asked, voice rising with the growl, with the throb in his temples, “do you tink iz _soap_?”

“…Not high?”

“ _Not high_ ,” Dimo snapped, and the guy jumped a gratifying foot in the air. “ _Dot’s right_. Goot job, hyu haz _finally_ brought hyu _tinking meats online_!” He stood up. “Get out,” he told the civilian.

The civilian got out. Dimo glared at his retreating back, feeling the growl vibrate in his chest, and then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, stuffed it down.

God, he needed to get some air. Soon.

* * *

“Did you chase Alexandru Dalca out of here a few hours ago?” Zeetha snapped, storming into the room like a thunderstorm ready to strike.

Dimo’s headache hadn’t gone away, but it had lessened somewhat over the course of several hours. Unfortunately, his foul mood had not. “Who?” he asked, refusing to sit up from where he’d slumped in the chair for a very quick nap or to push his hat off his eyes to look at her.

“Alexandru Dalca,” Zeetha snarled, and slammed her hands down on the projector table hard enough to make it let off a stream of static.

“Hoy—“ Dimo said, alarmed, sitting up. “Don’t break de—“

“Answer the question!”

“Iz dot de guy who vants to know vhy ve dun haff soap ven ve iz runnink low on bandages?” Dimo asked, glaring. “Becawz Hy told dot guy to get out, yez.”

“How would he know we’re running low on bandages?” Zeetha shouted. “He doesn’t care about bandages right now! His daughter isn’t _bleeding_ , she has _influenza_!”

Dimo, halfway up and face twisted in a snarl, froze.

“ _Oh_ ,” Zeetha said, vindicated. “I see _that_ is enough of a concern to _merit your attention_.”

“Hy didn’t—“ Dimo grimaced and sat back down, rubbed his temples. “Hy didn’t know ennyvun vos sick,” he muttered.

“Well, you’ve been growling every time someone comes _near_ you for about two weeks,” Zeetha said, waving her arms. “I’m not surprised nobody mentioned it, I’m surprised anyone’s been brave enough to tell you anything at all!”

“Ha!” Dimo said, and started to cross his arms before he remembered he only had the one. He crossed that one anyway. Fuck it. “No problem _dere_ , sveetie. De civilians von’t talk to ennyvun _else_.” Zeetha stared at him. “ _What_ ,” he snapped. “Vot did Hy say _now_.”

“You have to know that you’re their only point of contact,” Zeetha said, incredulously. “Nobody else _will_ talk to them, Dimo! When they talk to someone else, they send them to _you_.”

“Dot iz not mine fault!” Dimo said throwing his arm out in exasperation. “Hy haff odder tings—important tings to do! Hy don’t know how Hy effen got dot job!”

“You got it,” Zeetha said slowly, like talking to an idiot, “by _starting to do it_ , and then _not giving it to anyone else_.”

“Vell den,” Dimo growled, “Apparently, Hy iz currently de qvartermaster, de refugee point ov contact, und de guard keptain, _und_ efferyvun keeps showing up vit updates from de medical ving! _Verra sorry_ Hy iz makink a few _priorities_. _Hy do apologize_ for not tinking ov de possibility dot vun ov de 50 pipple dot _suddenly showed op und needed food und protection_ might _catch de flu_. Iz not like soap iz verra high on a Jӓger’s general leest of tings to _vorry about_!”

“That I noticed,” Zeetha said, wryly. “This place is disgusting.”

“Dis place iz a _Jӓgermonster base of operations_ ,” Dimo snapped. “It vos equipped for… for vun platoon for a few months! Maybe a few human soldiers, vhich is vhy dere effen _vos_ soap! It hez veapons dot ve iz fest runnink out of, machines dot ve vos not supposed to vorry about usink becawz de Masters und Generalz knew how to use dem, more bloody _building materialz_ den ve vill _effer need_ , bandages in case ve took some minor demage, und enough food to get trough a few months, _if hyu dun mind also eatink vermin_. It vos not equipped for refugees!”

“Then _equip it for refugees_ ,” Zeetha bellowed.

“ _Vhy dun’t_ hyu _equip it for refugees_ ,” Dimo bellowed back. “ _Iz not mine job. Hy dun’t_ vant _dis job. Please, somevun else take it_.”

Zeetha looked at him, supremely unimpressed. Dimo sat back, panting, breathed until he could stop growling, knuckled at his throbbing temples.

“You are a mess right now,” Zeetha informed him.

“Hy bet hyu say dot to all de gurlz,” Dimo muttered, switching to massaging the back of his neck.

“No, you’re wound like a spring. Have you had any chance to blow off steam recently?”

“Hy chucked a broom et Traian’s head de odder day, dot vos preddy fun.”

Zeetha glared at him, hands on her hips. “That’s it? No wonder you’re snapping at everyone. You’re a warrior!”

“Ho, really?” Dimo asked, looking up and making his eyes as wide as he could. “Wow, nobody tells me ennyting! Mine entire life, a lie.”

“You must be going crazy from inaction,” Zeetha said. “Why don’t you put _yourself_ on one of these patrols?”

“Have ve been haffing de same conversation,” Dimo asked her, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back until his neck cracked. Oh, wow, that actually was a bit better. He cracked his neck again, the other way.

“You have to take care of yourself too,” Zeetha told him, gentler and suddenly closer. He opened his eyes to look up at her, standing not quite over him, and relaxed the sudden tension. Wow, definitely wound too tight, she was right. Zeetha looked at him a bit, and then nodded decisively. “Okay, yes, I will take the quartermaster position.”

Dimo blinked. “Vot.”

“You told me I should make the tunnels habitable for refugees,” Zeetha reminded him, voice taking on the tinge of someone who was trying to be patient.

“Yez,” Dimo said slowly. “Bot Hy didn’t tink hyu’d accept.”

“Well, then,” Zeetha said briskly, “you shouldn’t have offered.” She turned to the pile still sitting untouched on the bucket and began rifling through for the inventory.

“Um.” Dimo sat up, still blinking at her. “Really? Chust like dot?”

“Mm,” Zeetha said, locating the inventory and making a face at it as she saw what it said. Dimo could relate to that feeling, he had been pulling similar faces at that list for weeks. “Well, also I think you should tell me who I need to talk to in the raiding parties. Apparently we need to readjust our priorities somewhat.”

“…No, ve schtill need food more den ennyting,” Dimo offered. “Hy mean… ve really, really do.”

“Mm, yes, but I saw someone drag in what looked like an entire rucksack full of buttons the other day, and while I acknowledge that we need to keep people occupied, maybe they could have been hauling something more immediately useful instead.”

“Hy’d say buttons iz ecktually preddy useful,” Dimo said, “but hokay, sure. Ah, vot time iz it?”

“It’s about 1300,” Zeetha told him, “and really, the fact that you don’t know that is—“

“Yez, yez. Oggie iz probably out now, den, so hyu go und tolk to Veaceslav und Jenka. Veaceslav has been doink de night patrols, und Jenka haz gots de runners scared into doink food runs.” Dimo felt a little dazed. Wow, really? That was it? That was all it took to get someone else to do some of this?

Zeetha looked at Dimo, and sighed. “You’re actually doing a pretty good job, you know,” she offered. “This all landed on you almost accidentally, and you know exactly who I need to talk to and can hand me a list of our current stock to get me started. That’s impressive.” She shrugged. “You weren’t trained for command, and I hear the failing to delegate happens a lot in that situation. From what I’ve heard of Baron Wulfenbach—“

“ _Woah_ ,” Dimo said, on his feet suddenly. “Vhy iz hyu comparink me to _dot_ guy. Hy iz not runnink en empire, sveetie, Hy iz not effen runnink en army!” Zeetha blinked at him, and then looked pointedly at the papers she was holding. “No, dot iz not de same,” Dimo insisted, stubbornly. “Hyu said hyuself Hy ended op doink dot becawz nobody else vos doink it, iz just… cataloguing und… tolking to de pipple ecktually doink de fun schtoff, Hy izn’t effen involved in strategy or ennyting—“ Zeetha changed her pointed look to the projector Dimo was napping next to, and raised an eyebrow. “Iz not de _same_ ,” Dimo snapped. “Iz like guard duty, except Hy dun effen get to go _outside_.”

“At some point,” Zeetha said, clearly trying not to laugh at him, “I would really like to hear what you think command _is_.” She held up a hand. “No, fine, you’re not in command, okay. Thank you for the inventory.”

Dimo snorted at her as dismissively as he could, crossing his arm over his chest again and sitting back down.

“I’ll let you know about any updates to the list,” Zeetha promised as she started walking out the door, reading the inventory again. “And I will come ask if I have any questions—oh, actually.”

_Damn_ ,Dimo thought, halfway to pulling his hat down to try to nap again. “Mm?”

“It’s possible that the civilians could use some of this building material to make their stay more comfortable—I know you can make soap from alkali, and there’s plenty of grease, although obviously animal fat would be better—“

“Not a funny joke,” Dimo informed her, glaring.

“Okay, okay, so grease and alkali, and there’s definitely enough for, say, some furniture, pots and pans, some modifications to—“

“Dot sounds great,” Dimo interrupted. “Hyu should definitely look into dot. Mebbe check vit Meester Ponch before hyu tek de building materialz, Hy dunno vot he needs.”

“Hmm…” Zeetha propped herself on the door, and Dimo fought not to sigh. “Punch _has_ been doing all those repairs himself, actually. Has anyone checked with the refugees to see if anyone can help him there? I mean, these _are_ Mechanicsburgers, after all. Carson said they’ve been looking after Heterodynes for centuries, a Heterodyne military base should be easy.”

…Dimo had not thought of that. When the refugees had gotten there they had been scared, bedraggled villagers in the middle of a sea of shellshocked, floundering Jӓgerkin, and at the time the only thing Dimo could think to do with them was set them somewhere safe and hope they didn’t end up poking the wrong thing and making it explode (there had been plenty of Jӓgers doing that already).

In hindsight, the fact that Punch had come looking for something to do and the minor detail that that kid had gotten into _another_ machine the other day and forced them all to break it open to get him out might have been a clue that they needed a task.

“…Hy’ll tolk to dem about it,” he said, “since apparently Hy iz de only vun dey vill tolk to.”

“You may want to visit Alexandru’s daughter, too,” Zeetha said meaningfully.

“Hy iz not goink to go amongst de masses kissink babies und-“

“ _Dimo_.”

“Fine, fine. Go avay und let me sleep, mine head hurtz.”

* * *

Zeetha had been right about the refugees. Dimo went to talk to them later that day, after cornering Oggie as he came in and sending him Zeetha’s way, and they were just about as bored as about half the Jӓgers in the tunnels. Dimo went and found Punch, Judy, and Zeetha, and they spent the evening giving people something to do.

The woman whose kid kept sneaking into machinery and making them break him out got babysitting duty, though. Dimo was feeling better, but he wasn’t feeling _that_ much better.

With Zeetha handling the quartermaster duties, Punch on the machine repair, Judy fielding the refugees, and the refugees themselves busy ramping up the general useability of the tunnels – and Dimo was not too proud to admit he did suddenly notice a difference, actually, also wow – Dimo had more time to do other things.

Mostly, he kept a close eye on the Knights of Jove. Dimo had been telling the truth when he told Zeetha that he wasn’t really involved in strategy, but the fact was that nobody was really involved in strategy, their enemies included. The Sturmhalten faction was, as usual, completely disorganized and working at cross-purposes, setting up camp in weirdly isolated areas that had no tactical importance that Dimo could see and abandoning them just as quickly.

Dimo highly suspected they’d mostly forgotten they were supposed to be fighting Wulfenbach, and that the Jӓgers were still occasionally sending a squad or two to menace them away from slightly _more_ tactical areas, and instead had once again started fighting each other.

Dimo sort of wanted to see if they could get someone in _there_ , to be honest. Not that Higgs was actually sending anything useful their way, but Dimo just bet the gossip in Balan’s Gap was juicier. Wulfenbach was mostly sending troops to guard the already-impenetrable Mechanicsburg, which Dimo personally thought was a rather large waste of time and simultaneously got his back up in a way that very little else could.

Dimo was in the projector room again about a week after his confrontation with Zeetha, sitting down in a chair, with a stack of papers precariously on a bucket near his feet, preparing for another long day of glaring at the same stretch of woods and wishing mean things would befall the particular duke who – seemingly by chance! – had taken up a position near a relatively hidden Wulfenbach runway, when the airship puttered its way across the simulated sky and came to wobbly, slightly off-center landing on the very stretch of ground in question.

Ten people piled out, body language nervous—all looking around, quick, darting movements like prey animals when they heard a noise on the wind. The man in a green cloak and mask who walked out behind them, though, couldn’t have read as “prey” if he tried.

Dimo overturned the chair into the bucket, papers flying everywhere in his wake, on his way out the door.

“Higgs gots ten civilians vit heem at de northvest Wulfenbach touchdown,” he snapped at the first Jӓger he came across—Maxim, somehow, Dimo didn’t question it—as he dashed past and the other spun and began matching his pace on instinct. “He’s brinking dem into de voods dot Duke von Volke’s pipple vere patrolling yesterday. Get a squad, meet me at de mouth of the tunnel.”

“Jah,” Maxim agreed, eyes wide, and cut off at the next fork, presumably to find the squad Dimo asked for.

Dimo sped up, took the corner too fast, had to catch himself on the wall opposite when he overcompensated—still not used to missing an arm, damn it. His claws left gouges in the stone as he passed.

Down the left fork, past one of the dorm rooms—he heard others shouting in surprise, no time, already sent someone for backup – around the next bend and dodge Cornel coming the other way.

“Hoy!” Cornel shouted in surprise, flattening himself – fairly literally, Cornel tended to be only about half Jӓger shaped at any given moment – against the wall, and watching Dimo shoot past him. “Dimo?”

“Civilians at de northwest voods,” he snapped in explanation, and kept going past the infirmary and down the corridor with his supply closet and turn—

“Dimo!” Oggie was keeping pace, grimly, halberd slung over his shoulder. “Hy hear from Maxim—“

“Gotta be Higgs,” Dimo said. “Vay he moved.”

Oggie cursed. “Dun dey know dot forest is filled vit—“

And they were at the door, and there was Maxim coming up from the other fork with six others, and Dimo was out the opening, keeping low.

“Ve hunt,” he growled, centuries of habit nearly demanding it, and heard it echoed eight times behind him, and grinned.

* * *

The forest itself was bare – the leaves had fallen not too long ago, and the clanks had done an excellent job of scaring any animals who were still awake into hiding. It meant there was a depressing dearth of shadows and cover noise, but the leaves and brown bark were adequate for camouflage anyway, and also meant that there was a trail that almost screamed “someone passed through here” headed straight to their civilians.

Higgs was on alert, and they weren’t really trying to be hidden from _him_ , so he noticed them right away. He turned his head and raised his eyebrow as the entire squad of them descended on the civilians and clasped hands over their mouths before they could shout and give away all of their positions.

“Shhhh,” Oggie told his civilian, unnecessarily. “Sorprize! Ve kom to save hyu!” The civilian made a whimpering noise, but didn’t struggle.

“Problems?” Higgs asked, sotto voce to Dimo, who’d waited until his lady civilian had stopped trying to knee him somewhere sensitive and then slung her in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder for ease of movement.

“Dese voods iz crawling vit Knights of Jove clenks,” Dimo told him. Higgs froze. “Jah. Eksactly. Ve iz gonna be seen enny minute. Goot job brinkink dem in here, eediot. Izn’t hyu supposed to be gatherink useful eent-schoff about vot efferyun iz doink op dere?”

“Sturmhalten’s been so erratic,” Higgs muttered, embarrassed, as he moved over to the last civilian. “Sorry, need to move quickly now,” he told him, and swept him up into a piggyback without further explanation. “Who knows what the hell they’re doing,” he continued to Dimo, as though he hadn’t interrupted himself. “Here, give her to me, you don’t have an arm now.”

“Hy iz fine,” Dimo growled, and turned away, slinking low, following the other Jӓgers as they darted from tree to tree, using what little cover they had. They were going to hit the field soon, and they’d be slow and easy to spot, ugh. What if they—

It turned out to be a moot point. A cry of alarm went up behind them, and then the sound of a gun – big gun – cannon? Yes, shit, cannon – being leveled at their backs. All the Jӓgers hit the ground with their charges as the projectile hit a tree with a _boom_ , wood shards flying out and showering them all. Dimo growled.

“Schtay low und run dot vay,” he told his civilian, dropping her in the leaves and crouching up, turning to see how many were – okay, three. The clank that had spotted them, and then two more coming straight at them through the trees. The little patrol ones, too, not the big overcompensating ones for the Knights proper, that cannon was only about twice Dimo’s size, it looked like—

“Somevun vit two hends tek de ceeveelianz out,” he snapped, voice carrying, and lunged at the first one, staying low. He jammed a throwing knife into the knee gears, locking it in place, used the momentum and extra force to boost himself up to the head, feet first. His boots impacted with the cannon, knocking it up and away from where it was aiming at the Jӓgers and their passengers. The idiot fired anyway, hitting the top of a tree and showering the screaming civilians with more branches. Dimo rolled his eyes, even as he clamped his legs around the cannon and swung down to grab onto it with his hand.

The rider shook the cannon in an attempt to dislodge him. He hung on grimly, taking in the scene quick-like even as he grinned as wide as he could through the glass between him and the clank driver.

Dimo’s face was pretty flexible, so this was pretty wide. The driver blanched and pushed back in his chair, taking his hands off the controls. Moron.

Claudiu and Darius had gone after the clank just behind the one Dimo had attacked. Claudiu was shimmying up from behind, dodging what looked like normal bullets from the last clank, using his claws as impromptu climbing picks. He let go with one hand and dropped just in time for a bullet to hit the engine, which began sparking and hissing. “Gonna blow!” he yelled, gleefully, still clinging to the metal and swinging like a leaf as it bucked.

Darius, who had leapt up a tree and jumped onto the clank’s head, ripped it off. “No vay in trough de top,” he bellowed cheerfully, and threw the head through the glass at the driver, swinging down and following it in. Three seconds later, the clank began to fall backwards, causing Claudiu to shout in alarm and quickly swing up onto the cannon like Dimo. Claudiu was heavier, though, and the momentum sent him flying off, cannon and arm still attached.

“Veak shoulder connections,” he called from the ground, as Darius exited the cockpit and rolled just in time to avoid the engine explosion. That was interesting, but Dimo didn’t get a chance to watch anymore, or see what was happening with the other clank, because his clank driver had decided to try aiming the cannon with him attached. Dimo slid down until his boots were resting on the glass, jammed his foot into the lock mechanism to trap his opponent inside, and ripped the cannon off at the wrist. Suddenly without anything to hold onto, he tumbled towards the ground, cannon in hand.

His hat started to fly off, but he caught it on the edge of the cannon. Meant he landed on his head, but eh.

Ow, okay, now he was on the ground again. The clank he was fighting couldn’t move without falling over thanks to the knife, and was weaponless. “Help!” the clank driver screamed. Dimo let go of the cannon to put his hat on. Lots of wires on this thing, but it had a trigger, maybe… he hoisted the cannon to the top of his shoulder, braced his feet, and tried shooting up between the clank’s legs and into the cockpit.

The cannon fired. The impact and explosion sent the clank shooting up into the air at least a meter, and then back into its fellow fallen clank. Dimo himself went backwards into the ground with no way to brace, grinning. “Whoo!” he shouted from the ground. “Dey fire, boyz!”

Then a rain of bullets came out of nowhere, and he had to roll up and under his downed clank for cover, grinning.

“Fon!” Claudiu shouted back, over the sound of gunfire, and aimed his cannon, attached arm included, from where he still was on the ground.

There was a loud _boom_ , and then a scream and a _crash_ , and then silence.

Dimo poked his head over the top of his cover, to behold the wreckage of both clanks amongst the burning trees and leaves, and both Jӓgers whooping and high-fiving. He grinned, and boosted himself up and over to join them.

* * *

They caught up with the rest of the group about ten minutes later, and got to brag about taking down the clanks all the way back to base. Dimo made the most of it, blood high and headache gone for the first time in what felt like ages. He kept an eye on Higgs though, who was sedately keeping pace with the rest of them as they casually formed a ring around their civilians – and they were definitely the civilians Petia had ripped all the nerves on his left side out trying to catch, Dimo recognized one or two of the faces.

Higgs had been completely out of contact for about two and a half months now. The last anyone had heard from him had been the day the barrier went up, when he was presumably going to infiltrate Wulfenbach on the grounds that he already had a cover and very few confirmed ties to Mechanicsburg. He had then theoretically proceeded to acquire some sort of intelligence on what the hell was going on in Wulfenbach, none of which he had seen fit to share with the Jӓgers.

But he was here now, and Dimo was _really_ not above bribing some of his fellows to sit on the “airman” until he coughed up something they could use. Starting with what in the world Agatha’s boy thought he was doing, building a wall around their town and decorating it with… well, honestly, Dimo was beginning to suspect they were statues of Agatha, which was really funny until you considered what her reaction was going to be, just as soon as she got herself out of the time bubble and found out about them.

At which point it became hilarious, but that wasn’t really relevant at the moment.

“So dey haff a few injuries,” Maxim told him, popping up at Dimo’s side while the others were ushering the civilians into their base (and flirting outrageously with everyone, but that was more or less a given), “bot dey looks old, und also mebbe like dey vos treated alreddy, so ve vos all tinking mebbe ve bring dem to Miz Judy und let her field Frau Olga.”

“Hm, hokay,” Dimo said, “but hyu gets to explain to Olga, Hy iz not gettink involved in dot.”

“Foul,” Maxim said, grinning, “but hokay, Hy let Oggie bring dem to Miz Judy und go woo Frau Olga vit mine goot looks und charm.”

“Ven she untie hyu und let hyu schtop helpink her treat pipple,” Dimo said, “und finishes ectually checking de new refugees, come und let me know vot she say, yez? Hy iz gonna go shake _dot vun_ over some paper until vot he see in Wulfenbach fall out hiz ears.” He nodded to Higgs, who, oblivious to his fate, was walking hands in his pockets and letting Toma talk his ear off about a prank absolutely nobody was going to see coming.

Maxim snorted. “Shore ting, Hy let de odders know de plan,” he said. “Hyu should hurry op, though, Miz Zeetha iz gonna hear dot he’s here soon, und den he iz gonna be _busy_.” He waggled his eyebrows under his hat. Dimo laughed and punched Maxim in the shoulder. Maxim punched him back, and then was off, slipping up to keep pace with Oggie and talk briefly before running ahead and around a bend in the tunnel, presumably to go track down Olga.

“Hokay,” Oggie said, turning to give the refugees a bright grin. “Ve go und see Miz Judy now, jah? She gots lots of nize tings, like beds und blankets und chengez of clothes.” He started walking backwards, halberd slung over his shoulders and arms bent over top. The other Jӓgers fell in around the refugees, subtly herding them along as Oggie talked. “Und Hy tink she gots a leedle lab ting goink vit Miz Zeetha for soap und tings like dot, so hyu can do de vashing op, jah? Und she gots-“

Dimo sped up a little to fall into step with Higgs, punching Toma in the shoulder as he took his place at their prodigal informant’s side. Toma snickered and turned to flirt with a random civilian.

“Hoy,” Dimo started, conversationally. Higgs, hands in his pockets, turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Hyu haz been gone for over two months now,” Dimo pointed out. “Gots ennyting better to say den ‘Sturmhalten haz been irratic?’ Because Hy’ve got to say, ve figured dot vun out alreddy. Becawz ve all gots eyes.”

Higgs glared at him. “That so,” he drawled, his shoulders taking on a bit more aggressive of a set. Dimo grinned.

“Down here, et least,” he said cheerfully, steering Higgs down a side tunnel as Oggie kept going straight to the refugee quarters. “Not in Wulfenbach yet, but dot’s vot hyu vos dere for, yez? Dot’s vot Miz Zeetha says. Mebbe hyu ken explain some tings, like vhy Miz Agatha’s boy gots a vall goink op around an impenetrable barrier, und vhy dey iz mostly just kemped out in de fields und iz not takink op enny positions dot iz ectually useful except all de landing pads.” Dimo paused. “Also vhy dey need so many landing pads, dis seems excessive, iz like dey tink if dey have enough, airships vill chust spring out ov de ground like…like vheat or someting, Hy dunno.” He considered. “Dey ken’t ecktually do dot, right? Dot vould be really annoying, seeding de valley vit airships like dot. Who do dey tink dey iz, ennyvay, dey didn’t effen esk us if dey could have an airship farm in our valley, Hy—“

“They aren’t creating an airship farm,” Higgs interrupted, but he was smirking a bit. Dimo grinned back.

“Nah, dey iz chust movink supplies for de useless vall, und pipple to guard it uselessly. Vot’s dot about den, Mister scheaky schneak.” He casually kicked the door to his supply closet open, moved some papers off a bucket, and sat in his chair. “Hyu gets de bucket,” Dimo explained, probably unnecessarily, grinning, “becawz iz vhere de information sits.”

“Haven’t you considered a desk,” Higgs asked, but he sat on the bucket like it was the comfiest damn chair he’d ever had, spreading his legs out and resting his arms on his knees.

“Naw,” Dimo said. “Hy iz sittink in a supply closet und collecting information so all de officers only have to come to vun place, dot iz not desk-vorthy.” He grinned. “Mebbe shelf-vorthy, Hy should talk to Miz Zeetha about dot. She iz doink de quartermaster ting,” he clarified, when Higgs raised an eyebrow.

“Or Judy, apparently. If she’s taking in refugees she might have a better idea where you can find a bookshelf,” he offered.

“Nah,” Dimo shrugged. “Hy iz already yelled at for not beink considerate enough to de refugees, Hy iz not touchink dot vun. Dey ken haff de bookshelves und de soap und dose ov os who iz used to roughing it vill make due vith buckets.”

“…Soap?” Higgs asked, like he couldn’t really help himself.

“Hy dunno, iz verra important it seems,” Dimo shrugged. “Dun yell at de civilians about soap, Miz Zeetha vill come und be mad at hyu. Den again,” he added, drawing it out, grinning deviously. “Mebbe _hyu_ like dot, jah?"

“Do you want information or to stick yer nose into my love life,” Higgs asked. “Because I can go and talk to someone else pretty easy—“

“Iz both an option? Hokay, hokay, Hy stop,” Dimo said, raising his hand and laughing as Higgs started to stand up. “Sit down, keed, god, hyu iz spending too moch time on Wulfenbach, hyu skin’s lost all de thickness.”

“Hm…” Higgs sat back down on the bucket, eying Dimo suspiciously.

“No, seriously, though,” Dimo said, leaning forward and letting the grin drop off his face. “Vot iz op vit Wulfenbach, schpy boy? Dey chust lettink all ov de prisoners go free, now? Sending people to escort dem into de vaiting arms of Sturmhalten, mebbe? Hy ask becawz dis iz de second time pipple have escaped.”

Higgs looked at him for a minute completely expressionless, then raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said slowly, like Dimo was a bit slow, “and I got them out both times.”

“Ho! Hyu gets out Punch und Judy, too?” Dimo asked, blinking.

“Didn’t they say?” Higgs asked, and now he looked a bit surprised. Dimo paused, trying to remember if they had, and then shrugged.

“Not to me, ennyvay. Hy guess mebbe to somevun else…? Dere vere some rumors, und dey mention to me dot dey iz not dead becawz de schmott boy fix dem op, but—“

“ _You_ didn’t ask, though?” Higgs interrupted. “It didn’t occur to you that they could give you some idea of what is happening on Wulfenbach, since they were… on it?”

Honestly, it had occurred to Dimo, in that vague way that things you’d meant to ask someone occur to you after you finish a conversation with them. The thing was, the conversation in question was the one where he’d had to go ‘sorry we couldn’t keep your adopted daughter from getting frozen in a time bubble,’ and he’d kind of figured then wasn’t the best time. And then… well, there had been some rumors going around about the escape—a few of them were that Agatha’s boy had let them out himself, that they had busted their way out of their isolation tubes single-handedly, that Judy had charmed a Wulfenbach guard into freeing them—they’d all had that tone that said the real story had been stretched so much that any and none of them could have been true. Dimo had taken the rumors as proof that they’d told _someone_ , and when nobody came to tell _him_ had assumed there wasn’t much to tell, and that it wasn’t really his business anyway.

“Vhy dun _hyu_ tell me _now_ , schmott guy,” he griped, scowling, in lieu of answering the question.

“Hm.” Higgs sat back again, smirking, and nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”

“Thenk hyu,” Dimo said, wryly. They stared at each other for a minute. “In hyu own time, ov course.”

Higgs snorted, sitting up. “Right. Well, to start, the wall.”

“Yeeeez…”

“It’s… symbolic.” Higgs shrugged. “Also a fort that Wulfenbach can use as a base of operations. Turns out,” he explained, “a lot of the Empire wasn’t too keen on being tossed at Mechanicsburg and losing, and with Klaus locked inside, they decided it was time to defect. One of the reasons not much is going on here is because the new Baron has his hands full with his rapidly contracting borders.”

Dimo blinked. “Dot _iz_ interesting.”

“He’s decided,” Higgs said, wryly, “that he is going to pick a center for a new empire the way his father did, and build from there. Considering Klaus chose the piles of rubble that was once the old Wulfenbach and Gil chose a town locked in a time bubble that he can’t enter, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“He’s claimed Mechanicsburg as de center of de Empire,” Dimo repeated flatly. “Seriously?”

“Not really a _bad_ move,” Higgs said wryly. “Mechanicsburg isn’t in much of a state to tell him where to shove that claim, and anyway, Agatha’s in there, and Gil is _definitely_ gone on _her_.

“That said, he’s been busy dealing with all the secessions.” Higgs sat back. “And the Other.”

“Vell, dot makes se—vot.”

“The Other,” Higgs said levelly. “For a while there was a general rumor that Gil was wasped, but then he started passing out an antidote, and now there’s a full-on civil war going on in there. He’s been corralling revenants where he can find them, and imprisoning people he finds that are just quacks who are loyal for their own reasons, but between that and the external pressures the kid’s spread a little thin.”

“Gott’s leedle fish in trowsers,” Dimo said, sitting back and pushing his hat back to scratch his head, staring at Higgs in amazement. “Hy… vos not expecting dot.”

“Figured,” Higgs said, shrugging. “Just to make the whole thing a bit more messy, the rest of the time he’s been chewing on the problem of what his poppa even _did_ to Mechanicsburg. He’s been writing up plans for a few machines to get through the barrier without disintegrating, and maybe even pulling someone out, but they’re in the beginning stages. Nothing real concrete yet.”

“Hyu’ve been close, den,” Dimo said, raising an eyebrow. Higgs shrugged. “Close enough to let his prisoners free. Does he know hyu iz doing dot?”

“He knew about Punch and Judy, pretty sure,” Higgs said easily. “But nothing official. He’d have to do something about that, public-like. He does know I came down, but not that I brought the Mechanicsburgers with me. I suspect I’ll tell him when I get back.”

“Vell dot sounds like a bad plaaaaaahvot do hyu mean go back,” Dimo said flatly.

“I got to come down because I told him I’d take a look around, see what’s going on,” Higgs explained. “I figure I’ll tell him I found the Jӓgers, give him just a bit of what’s going on here to make it sound like you’re all not much of a threat. Should keep me looking useful and give me an excuse to keep coming down with information,” Higgs said, shrugging.

“No,” Dimo said.

“…You have a better idea?”

“Yez, how about hyu schtay here und _ecktually help us out_.” Dimo stood up, looming over Higgs, suddenly angry. “Vot iz hyu—do hyu haff enny hydea vot iz effen _happening_ here?”

“Well… no, I just got here,” Higgs said, far too reasonably for what Dimo was feeling right now. “But with that lead-in, it sounds like you all have a handle on it. Meanwhile, I’m kind of in a position to provide regular, reliable information on the army that’s currently surrounding Mechanicsburg, so, looking at the big picture—“

“ _Curse_ de big picture,” Dimo snarled, slamming his hand down on the wall behind Higgs. “ _Vot_ big picture? Our town und our Heterodyne iz _frozen in a time bubble_ , ve haff _three_ armies et our doorstep, und vot iz left of os iz _starving to death in dese fucking tunnels_. _Dot_ iz de big picture! Ve need leadership! Ve need somevun to make a strategy. Ve need somevun to _point us in a trice-demned direction_ , und _hyu_ —“

“ _I_ ,” Higgs said levelly, standing to loom right back at Dimo, pushing him a step back out of Higgs’ personal space, “am not the person to do it.”

“ _Hyu iz de_ only _vun who ken do it_ ,” Dimo snapped. “ _All ov de generalz und higher officers who could mebbe do it for hyu iz_ frozen in time.”

“My position,” Higgs said, teeth gritted, “is honorary at best. And you all _know_ it. I have _never_ been in command of a squad larger than eight men, and even then most of them _weren’t Jӓgers_. I am an infiltrator who needed a vote. Hell’s sake, Dimo, _you_ have been a Jӓger longer than _I_ have been _alive_.”

“Vot doez _dot_ matter?” Dimo shouted, clutching his hair. “Hyu _haff de position_. Et dis point, Hy tink half de Jӓgers in de tunnels vould listen to a _duck_ if it could claim to be a—“

“No.” Higgs crossed his arms. “I am not going to take command, Dimo. There are plenty of people in these tunnels who can flail ineffectually at problems just as easily as I can, and most of them have more experience doing it. Meanwhile, _nobody else can infiltrate Wulfenbach_. You want a strategy? Fine. Correct use of resources means I have to go back.”

“Erm,” said Minsc from the hallway, and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ah… sorry to eenterrupt—hoy!” Higgs had pushed past him and out the door, stomping down the hallway.

“We’re done,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going to find Zeetha.”

Minsc blinked, then turned back to Dimo, shuffling his feet like a little boy who’d caught mommy and daddy fighting. “Um. Hy ken come back if iz a bad time, boss, Hy vos chust…” he looked from Dimo, who was still staring with his mouth open like an idiot at the door, and down the hallway, looking unsure. Dimo closed his mouth.

“Yes,” he said. “Yez, iz bad time. Get _out of mine vay, Hy iz going to KEEL HIM_.” He shoved past Minsc himself and turned to look down the hall, which somehow was _already empty, what the fuck, where did he even – AAAAARGH_.

“Woah,” Oggie said, souding surprised, and Dimo whirled to see him and Maxim just rounding the bend on the other side of the hallway, looking just as startled as Minsc did still standing in the door to the supply closet. “Vot iz de shoutink about? Someting op?”

"Dimo iz gonna keel Higgs," Minsc informed them helpfully.

“Vot? Vhy?” Maxim asked.

“Hy dunno, dey vos shoutink und den Higgs left to find Miz Zeetha und den Dimo sayz—“

“He’s _goink back to Wulfenbach_ ,” Dimo snarled. “De leetle _shit_ iz leavink us all here to _rot_ in dese tunnels und iz goink back to Wulfenbach so he ken go beck to _not giffing us useful information on time to do ennyting_ , und meanwhile ve iz schtill vitout a command structure or a strategy or a _damn supply chain_ , und Hy iz going to _keel him_!”

“…wow, ve miss all de fon schtuff,” Oggie said.

“Oggie,” Maxim started.

“ _Aaaaaargh_ ,” Dimo screamed again, and turned around to go hunt Higgs down and _rip him limb from limb_.

“Ack, vait—“ came Maxim’s voice from behind him, and then something impacted his back and something else impacted his side and he went careening into the floor, snarling. He pulled and tried to throw them off, but Oggie was kneeling on his back holding down his legs and Maxim had knee on his shoulder and was holding down his arm. “Hokay,” Maxim said, “Hy tink ve all need to take a deep breath und not keel Higgs.”

“Get _off_ ,” Dimo snarled, and bucked.

Ten minutes later, the tunnel walls had three brand new alcoves, the stone that was formerly where the alcoves were was scattered all over the floor, Oggie was bleeding from three different places on his torso and one laceration on his forehead, Dimo’s head rang like the Doom Bell, and he and Maxim had both lost their hats.

Minsc had, wisely, left about when Oggie and Maxim tackled him. Dimo figured that was probably for the best.

“Feeling less growr?” Maxim asked, from where he was licking a long scratch clean and attempting to excavate his hat from under the rubble to Dimo’s right. Dimo snorted from his supine position on the floor.

“Mebbe schtill a leedle growr,” he admitted. “Also, Hy tink Hy need retraining.” He glared balefully at his missing arm. Oggie, who was propping himself up on his halberd and a particularly large boulder, snickered.

“Hy ken help vit dot, iffen hyu—“

“Schot op, Oggie,” Dimo interrupted, but he could feel himself grinning anyway. Oggie snickered again, but he didn’t say anything else.

They were all quiet for a while. Maxim freed his hat, and then successfully located and freed Dimo’s, which he helpfully dropped on Dimo’s face before settling against a wall, wincing a little.

“Thenk hyu,” Dimo said into his hat, and then reached up and adjusted it correctly over his eyes, ignoring the twinging in his shoulder. Maxim grunted, don’t worry about it, nothing to thank me for.

“So,” Oggie started, “Higgs iz goink back to hiz post?”

Dimo frowned. “Iz not hiz post,” he complained, pushing his hat back to glare at Oggie. “Nobody gave it to heem, he’s chust decided he vould do dot.”

“…vell,” Maxim began, thoughfully, “ _iz_ dere ennyvun who ken giff heem a post? Hy dun tink so. He gots to giff himself a post, so he did.”

“Den he should haff given himself _dis_ post,” Dimo said.

“Nobody vants dis post,” Oggie pointed out, sounding almost musing. “Dot’s vhy _hyu_ ended op organizing everyting, becawz nobody else vanted to do it.”

“Mebbe Hy should schtop,” Dimo grumped.

Oggie laughed. “Naw,” he said, using his halberd to pull himself up. He put some weight on his right leg. He frowned at it when the knee buckled slightly. “Hyu couldn’t at dis point if hyu vant to. Hyu’s in it now, Dimo, und hyu dragged us in vit hyu.”

“Hy did no—“  he had. “Vell, hyu didn’t haff to kom.”

“Of course ve did,” Maxim said, shrugging, even as he eyed Oggie’s efforts to achieve an upright position with vague interest. “Vot vos ve gonna do, tell hyu, no Dimo, dot sounds like a lot ov vork dot nobody vants to do, ve iz chust gonna run about like ve gots our heads cut clean off und let somevun else fix de problem.”

“Dot _iz_ vot efferyvun else did,” Oggie reminded them helpfully, smiling cheerfully. Apparently judging his leg sound, he stood up fully and cracked his neck. “Except mebbe Veaceslav. Und de officers iz schtill doink de officer ting at hyu, jah?”

“Mm,” Dimo said, feeling grumpy again. The officers were indeed ‘doing the officer thing’ at him, which was apparently to continue to be in charge of their smaller unit and tell Dimo all about it without once trying to coordinate with _each other_. Dimo was at the point where he was considering banging heads together just to ensure both heads were in the same room and aware of each other long enough to _have a conversation_.

“See? Dere hyu go,” Oggie said, as though that proved something. “But hey, Dimo, did hyu vant to hear vot happened vit de refugees?” he continued before Dimo had a chance to ask him what _that_ meant.

“Oh, yez, dot’s vot ve vos comink to tell hyu to begin vit!” Maxim said, standing up as well.

Dimo sighed, and then stood himself, cracking his back. “Jah, come on, Hy vant to talk to Miz Judy ennyvay. Ve ken talk und valk.”

“Hyu vant to go und talk to Frau Olga, too? Hy ken go und--”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

* * *

“Oh, Dimo,” Judy exclaimed, as Dimo knocked politely on the open door frame that led to Punch and Judy’s rooms. “I wasn’t expecting you! Ognian said you were tied up with something else and couldn’t come see the new arrangements yourself.”

“Ah, yez,” Dimo said. “Oggie told me about all dot, ecktually… Iz dere someting about dot hyu need mine help vit? It sounded preddy under control…”

“No, no, we’re all fine here,” Judy said, waving a hand. “But please, come in, have a seat.” She walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, which Dimo took, feeling a bit like a bear in a china shop. “No, it was just that I know Adam wanted to talk to you about something, but when Oggie told us you were busy we’d decided to ask you another time.”

“Oh! Vell, Hy iz done vit dot, Hy needed to talk to hyu about someting else,” Dimo explained. He caught himself reaching up to scratch nervously at his hair where his hat brim always pressed it down, forced himself to put his hand in his lap. Something about Judy always made him feel a bit like a schoolboy getting in trouble with a teacher, it was ridiculous. “Bot iffen dere’s someting _hyu_ needed to tolk about first…”

Judy smiled at him. “No, please, after you. Adam really should be the one to have that discussion with you, to be honest. I am not as firm on the logistics. But if you don’t mind waiting until he returns…”

Now Dimo _really_ wanted to know what Punch wanted to talk to him about. He nodded. “Dot’s fine. Vot Hy need ecktually izn’t urgent, Hy chust vanted to esk hyu…” He sighed. How to even approach this topic?

Oh well. In for a penny… “Ven hyu kom to schtay vit os,” Dimo asked, leaning forward. “Did ennyvun tolk to hyu about vot hyu see on Castle Wulfenbach?”

Judy had moved back over to the stove and picked up the big spoon she’d been using. She turned, surprised, and placed the hand with the spoon absently on her hip, food end turned away so it didn’t spatter her apron. “Oh! Talk to us in what way? We certainly _did_ talk to some people about it, but…”

“Hy mean, a formal report. Or en interview, mebbe? Hyu vouldn’t haff to giff a formal report, Hy chust mean… officially, did hyu tell ennyvun about—“

“I see.” Judy frowned, but thoughtfully, not like she was angry. “Well, I suppose we didn’t, no. I did tell the Jӓgers who found us that we’d escaped, and that we’d been healed by Klaus’s son, Gilgamesh—I think I told you that, as well.”

Dimo nodded. “Bot nobody esked hyu, hoy, Miz Judy, deed hyu see ennyting in de labs dot hyu tink ve should know, or even how hyu escaped?”

“Oh, we must have mentioned that Mr. Higgs freed us from the lab and gave us transport down!” Judy said, looking concerned. “I could have sworn… I apologize, Dimo, I hope we haven’t caused any problems—“

“No, no,” Dimo said, raising a hand to stop the apology, and then massaging his throbbing temples. “Hy iz chust tryink to figure out how hyu two haff been here for et least a month und a half und ve haff neffer officially esked hyu how hyu got here.”

“…Yes, I can see why you would be concerned about that,” Judy agreed, sighing. “I should probably have simply told _you_ when you first came to visit, but—well, we were both still so weak, and then we found out about Agatha…”

“Iz underschtandable,” Dimo said, trying for reassuring. “Vhy dun’t hyu tell me now, und den… vell, mebbe ve need to figure out ven iz a goot time to ask dose questions, in future. Und who should be asking dem, becawz _clearly_ it iz not gettink done.”

Judy nodded. “In that case… I don’t think I should be the one who asks.”

Because this needed to be more difficult. “Hokay…” Dimo said slowly.

“It’s just…” Judy sighed, apologetic. “At the moment, I am being presented to them as the liason between them and the commanding officers of this base—“

“Vot commanding officers,” Dimo grumbled. Judy gave him a look, and he cringed a little. “Sorry. Pliz continue.”

Judy rolled her eyes, but smiled a little as she began again. “Their liason, and their champion in that. If I’m also their interrogator…”

“Mm, dot makes sense.” Dimo sat back in his chair, sighing. “Hy dun know who vould be better. Gots to be somevun who vouldn’t skare dem, und who could be on call for dot…” He drummed his claws on the chair arm, rifling through his mental list of everyone in the tunnels. Probably should be someone with officer training, they’d know what to listen for… “Mebbe Miron,” he muttered. Miron was a lieutenant, but he looked human enough, and he had the clown act down cold and wasn’t _too_ bad at getting people talking about the right things and staying on topic… But he had a platoon that was mostly intact and actively alternating between patrols and supply runs…

…well, maybe the first set of interviews? But should that be consistent, Dimo didn’t want them thinking all the officers were out to weasel information out of them or something… “Hy tink about it,” he said to Judy, sitting up and rubbing his neck absently. He was getting used to having a constant, low-grade headache, it was ridiculous.

“Just let me know,” Judy told him, nodding agreeably, and turned back to her cooking. “Now, I am not entirely sure when Adam is going to come back, but this is about finished. Would you like to join me for dinner? I can tell you about our escape over a meal, I think.”

Dimo blinked. “…um, yez, thenk hyu,” he said, suddenly famished.

Half an hour and three helpings of stew later (in Dimo’s defense, Judy kept refilling his bowl), Dimo and Judy had finished discussing the escape from Castle Wulfenbach. Higgs, apparently, had walked into the lab where Judy and Punch had been kept, calm as you please, efficiently released them from their tubes, offered them clothing, and ushered them quickly and politely to a balloonless airship he assured them wouldn’t be missed. The airship had apparently not survived the landing, but they had managed to get to the ground with no more than a few extra bruises, and been picked up by the Jӓger squad not fifteen minutes later. (Dimo found himself a little dubious that such a contraption would stay in the air at all, but he’d certainly seen his own masters pull stranger things out of seemingly nowhere, and thus did not voice his concerns to Judy, who seemed rather keen to forget the experience). Regardless, they’d spent the entire time they were on Wulfenbach in a lab, and other than the medical equipment used to revive them itself and the brief glimpse of suspiciously empty corridors as they were led to their escape vehicle, they had very little insight into what had actually happened on the derigible.

The insight Judy had was primarily on Gilgamesh Wulfenbach’s state of mind itself, and it mostly coorborated Higgs’ report that Gil was stretched _far_ too thin. Dimo resolved to ask Higgs more about that later, and maybe even ask for more information on the new Baron’s state of mind specifically in the next report. It just seemed like a good idea to know the general mental state of the leader of one of the armies camping on one’s doorstep, really…

They’d moved onto less serious topics and were in the midst of a particularly intense discussion on felting when a _crash_ sent Dimo springing to his feet and dashing to the door before his brain could even catch up with the _what in the—_

There, just outside the entry way, was Punch, standing grimly with two yowling Jӓgers in a headlock, one under each arm. The Jӓgers were laughing in the midst of their complaining, and not struggling nearly as hard as they could have to get free. Dimo relaxed.

“What has Lilith told you all about brawling outside the refugee area,” Punch was saying.

“Ve vosn’t brawling,” Ioan whined, and then yipped as Punch gave him a shake, long ears flopping around from the movement. “Ow ow ow leggooooo ve veren’t!”

“You were fighting in the hallway,” Punch said. “And you were so caught up in it that you _didn’t see me coming_.”

“Eet vos chust a bit of fon,” complained Dragos, slipping half out of the headlock before Punch readjusted and trapped his hat between his head and Punch’s armpit. “Nooo hat on mine face schtop schtop—“

“No brawling in the corridors,” Punch growled. “I have half a mind to drag you into Lilith _right now_ and—“

“Hy vouldn’t,” Dimo interrupted, leaning against the door. “Miz Judy haz a verra nize schtew right now, dey vould chust eat it all und den hyu vould haff rewarded dem for bad behavior.”

“Foul!” Dragos cried, and gave in, cracking up. “Hyu… traitor,” he managed between guffaws, “giffing avay hour evil plan—“

“Now ve shall starve,” Ioan added melodramatically, slumping in Punch’s grip like a particularly morose wet cat. “Hyu haz doomed us both to de vorst death, Dimo, de death ov de schtomach eatink out ov de chest, leafink behind but a husk ov a vunce strong, proud Jӓger—“

“Oh, just let them in,” Judy called, laughing. “I have plenty, even after Dimo had three servings.”

“Hyu hypocrite!” Ioan howled, pointing at Dimo dramatically. Dimo stuck his nose in the air.

“Hy iz a refined, polite Jӓger who knocked und esked for delicious schtew nizely,” he informed them. “Mebbe now hyu learn hyu lesson.”

“ _Hy_ teach hyu a lesson, hyu—ow ow ow peace peace, Hy von’t teach heem lesson, stop vit de shakink—“

Dimo grinned, and helpfully cleared the doorway as Punch marched his captives into the room, pausing only to give Judy a light peck on the lips before dropping them both into chairs. “There, now behave or you won’t get supper.”

“Yes sir, Meester Ponch sir—“

“—ve iz verra goot und not fight in de corridors ennymore—ooh, venison!”

“Dot’s mine!” Dimo snapped, and ran to rescue his bowl from greedy, grabby hands that stole other people’s stew, the nerve…

* * *

Ioan and Dragos stayed until the pot was empty, and then when Dimo made a pointed comment that they  _definitely_ had posts they were supposed to get to left with cheerful grins and thanks to Judy for the wonderful meal. Dimo listened until they were around the bend of the corridor and not paying attention to this room any longer before turning to Punch.

“So, Hy hear dere vos someting hyu vanted to talk to me about?” Dimo asked, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow. He was pleasantly full for the first time in ages, and it was wonderful. He could probably take a nap right here, but that would be rude. After this talk, though, definitely.

“Ah, Lilith mentioned, I suspect,” Punch said, shooting his wife a fond look. “Yes, as it happens, there is something I have been thinking about for a while that I thought I should run by a Jӓger before setting in motion. Has Lilith given you any specifics?”

“Nah,” Dimo said. “She only say hyu vanted to talk to me, bot didn’t becawz hyu figure Hy vos busy vit Higgs. She say hyu vould explain it better, so.”

“Well, I suppose I would, as I would likely be the one doing most of the, er, heavy lifting for lack of a better term…” Punch sighed, sat back. “I was in the infirmary the other day, to help Frau Olga fix one of the monitors that had gotten a little, ah, opinionated, and I noticed that there were a fairly large number of Jӓgers that were still confined there due to their decreased mobility from amputations.”

“…yeeez,” Dimo said, sitting up and leaning forward, surprised. “De vuns in de infirmary iz schtill healink, ecktually, bot dere iz… quite a lot ov os who haz a missink arm or leg or sometink. Iz ecktually a problem right now, ve iz losink Jӓgerkin who vere patrollink. De Knights of Jove gots dose cannons for de patrol clenks now, und dey shoot off limbs like iz dere job—vhich it iz, ecktually, now dot Hy tink about it, heh.”

Punch nodded. “Yes, I’d heard there was some concern as to Jӓgers fit for active duty. It got me thinking, though, about some of the work Lilith and I would do in Beetleburg for constructs who needed some repair work done. One of the most common requests was maintenance on mechanical limbs—removal, repair, and reattachment.”

Dimo stared. They couldn’t possibly be suggesting--

“We thought,” Judy chimed in, leaning forward across the table, “that since the tunnels were stocked with a lot of the parts Adam saw and used to repair those limbs, that he might be able to recreate some of them for the Jӓgers who need them.”

“Ve do not…” Dimo snapped, and then shut his mouth, took a deep breath. “Nobody bot a Heterodyne ken vork on os, hyu both _know_ dot—“

“There are some Jӓgers with mechanical limbs already, though,” Punch pointed out. “Maxim has one, for example. I saw it earlier today when he brought the new group of refugees in—it’s actually in relatively good repair, in fact, which makes me think _someone_ must have done maintenance on it.”

“It vos attached by Mamma Gkika,” Dimo told him shortly, “und de maintenance iz chust on de metal parts demselves. Iz not de same ting.”

“Hrm…” Judy pursed her lips, thinking. “Well, Adam and I _are_ both Heterodyne constructs, but if that isn’t enough, I suspect if Adam makes the limbs then we can talk a Jӓger through attachment. I suspect we could even get Olga to help. She’s been guiding Jӓger medical care since she arrived, after all, she probably has a better idea of how to approach it than we do.”

“And then,” Punch finished, “I could do the necessary maintenance as problems arose. I can’t promise that the limbs will be perfect, I’m not a Spark, but I do have a knack for recreating Spark work. I could even work from some of the limbs already in use, to ensure the new ones are as serviceable as possible.”

“Hy—“

“It’s just something to think about,” Judy interjected, kindly. “This is why we wanted to talk to a Jӓger. In the end, you are the ones who know what would break your Troths and what wouldn’t. We certainly didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or put you on the spot.”

“Hy,” Dimo started again, and then stopped. It… it could work. He could talk to Maxim, and to Vasko, he’d gotten a mechanical leg at some point while detached. They’d both be _happy_ to let Punch look at the mechanics of those, they would—Punch could probably re-equip as many as half the injured Jӓgers with limbs, get them back into the patrol schedule—

They could equip _him_ with an arm. No retraining. Well, less of it. He—

With Agatha locked away, he hadn’t thought—

“Hy haff to talk to de odders,” he said, head pounding. “Hy… it might… be hokay, bot Hy haff to talk to dem first. Hy ken’t decide dis for dem, iz—“ He ran out of words, and shut his mouth.

“We understand,” Punch said, nodding. “Just let me know when you decide.”

“Jah, hokay,” Dimo said, and stood. “Hy go und…talk to dem. Hy come find hyu in a vhile, let hyu know. Hy—“ he shook his head. “Thenk hyu,” he added. “For de offer.”

“Whatever we can do to help,” Judy said firmly. “You’re fighting for our daughter, after all.”

“Heh,” Dimo smiled, “jah, dot’s true, ve are.” Then he turned, waving goodbye over his shoulder, and absolutely did not flee the room. He had Jӓgers to find and talk to, after all, this wasn’t a retreat, it was a… tactical repositioning. And intelligence gathering. Yes. Right.

Eight hours later, after tracking down all the people he needed to ask about the possibility of mechanical limbs, and then shaking Higgs out of hiding and grilling him for more detail on his plan to spy on Wulfenbach and the current mental state of the reigning Baron, and finally giving in and checking on the refugees himself just to make sure they really _had_ managed to settle in alright, Dimo remembered his promise to himself that he would take a nap. Then he went to do it, because a promise was a promise, and damn it, he had definitely earned some sleep today.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of suicidal behavior. Also, please remember that Dimo is an unprepared officer with responsibilities beyond those to individual soldiers in the army he commands, not a trained medical professional from our time period. He responds to certain events in this chapter accordingly, and his actions reflect neither my opinions nor what his own responses would be in a different situation.

Dimo wasn’t sure why he’d been summoned to the medical wing. He’d been at his desk in the supply closet (desk being the only operative term for the large plank of wood he’d laid over some buckets to give him a little more space), talking with Captain Yakov about a potential run on a Wulfenbach supply chain and attempting to find a way to casually ask if the new legs were working any better after Punch’s last tweak, when Jenka had practically kicked down the door to tell him that Olga wanted him about ten minutes ago and he better drop whatever he was doing and get in there. Dimo, who was significantly more used to getting kicked _out_ of the infirmary than he was being told to be there ASAP, apologized to Yakov and dashed down the hallway, so as not to squander the opportunity.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he expected to find, but Olga standing over two cowering Jӓgers who were obviously treating a third under her instruction was not quite it.

That was business as usual, really, he had no idea why he needed to be here for it.

(At least the patient himself was new, and looked relatively uninjured. Olga had pulled Dimo aside not too long ago to express concern about some patients she claimed were becoming regulars. Dimo had explained that, no, Jӓgers just sort of tended to get injured a lot, it came with the whole ‘forgetting that being able to live through something didn’t mean you’d come out the other side free and clear’ thing, but… well, anyway, he was glad this didn’t look like she’d called him in to talk more about _that_. He had no idea what to say to a medical professional about that--particularly since she had a point in one or two cases and he wasn’t sure what even was going on there--and he would rather not try.)

“Ah _ha_ ,” Olga said when she spotted him, and pointed imperiously at the Jӓgers. “Good. _You_ figure out why he’s been trampled by sheep, I have ten more places that I need to physically be right now and do not have time to weasel it out of them for you.”

“Uh?” Dimo said, blinking at her in a fashion he was sure exuded intelligence and authority.

“You come in here at all hours bothering my patients for reports or some-such,” Olga snapped, glaring at him like he was an idiot who asked for unreasonable things. “Well, this time I actually want to know what the Blue Fire even happened, and I do not have time to find out. You do it.”

“Um, Hy iz not usually askink for mine own curiosit—“ Dimo started, and then decided the better part of valor was sometimes surrender. “Jah, hokay, absolutely, ma’am, Hy find out vhy Spas vos trempled by sheep, hyu go do de thousand odder tings in de ten plazez.”

“Hmph,” Olga said, staring at him suspiciously, but she went. Dimo let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding, and then turned to eye the three Jӓgers in question.

“…Sheep?”

“Dun look et _me_ ,” Spas complained, from where he was laying on the floor. He had a nice, dark hoof mark across his nose, standing out an ugly purplish brown against the light green of his skin, and what definitely looked like broken ribs and a dislocated knee and shoulder under his torn and muddy uniform. He’d rolled slightly so his weight was on his less injured right side, but he was obviously having a little trouble breathing as his ribs healed. “Hy look op und dere iz about seventy sheeps comink et me et speed, Hy iz lucky Hy managed to jump op und land in de middle instead ov dem all chust runnink me down.”

Dimo could already tell this was going to give him a headache. “Hokay, jah, dot makes sense, hyu vos on patrol chust outside de base.”

“Ekzectly,” Spas said, vindicated. He nodded decisively, and then winced and stopped moving. “Ow.”

Dimo turned to Nicu and Horia, who were giving each other little speaking side looks like they were kind of hoping they would be forgotten. “ _Hyu_ two, on de odder hand,” Dimo said, “vere supposed to be on a supply run.”

The both stared at him silently. He raised an eyebrow, hands on his hips, and waited. “Hy ken schtand here all day,” he told them.

Nicu elbowed Horia in the side. Considering the dull bone horns Nicu had on both elbows, this was probably pretty painful. Horia gave an “ooph” as the air was driven out of his lungs and glared at his companion. Nicu made a shooing motion with his hand, and Horia sighed, turning back to Dimo. Dimo raised the other eyebrow. Horia scratched at the (usually blue, now a smelly, muddy gray-brown) fur on his neck, cleared his throat.

“…Ve find mutton?” he tried.

“Ve noteeced,” Dimo said. “Vhy deed hyu schtampeed seventy sheep beck to base through a war zone ven ve iz tryink to schtay sottle?”

“Ecktually, may haff been more,” Horia muttered, looking shifty.

“Ho?” Dimo asked, neutral. “How meny sheep did hyu schtampeed beck to base through a war zone ven ve iz tryink to schtay sottle, den?”

“…ah,” Horia scratched at his fur again, clearly embarrassed. “Vos de entire flock, ecktually.”

“De entire flock,” Dimo repeated, flatly.

“Minoos de vuns ve lost ven ve vos dealink vit de Knights of Jove clenks—“ Horia explained, still not looking at Dimo directly.

Dimo’s temples throbbed. “Hokay!” he said. “Vhy vere hyu schtampeedink sheep beck to base _vhile fightink Knights of Jove clenks_ on a supply run vhen hyu schtandink orders iz to _keep a low profile_?”

Horia elbowed Nicu, catching him in the ribs. Nicu wheezed.

“Hy dun care who tells me,” Dimo offered. “Hy chust vant de schtory so Hy ken know who to kick und get back to doink someting useful.”

“It vos Veli’s hydea!” Nicu whined.

“Jah, Veli und Zhivko,” Horia added, nodding vigorously. “Ve vos chust following orders, ve didn’t decide to stampede de sheep.”

“Vell, hyu deed jam dot vun sheep een—“ Nicu started.

“Shh!”

Veli and Zhivko were both corporals. Zhivko had been the NCO in charge of the supply run, and Veli’s team had been patrolling the area where the Knights of Jove set down recently. Dimo noted neither of them had come to the medical wing.

…And the entire infirmary was now listening in for the story while pretending not to. Dimo sighed. Oh well. It _did_ sound like it was a good one.

“ _Right_ ,” he said. “Vhy dun ve schtart from de beginning.” He sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, pointedly looked around at their audience, and then turned to them both expectantly.

Horia looked around at the room, too, and then grinned, snorted like he was above such petty pastimes as bragging, and leaned forward, suddenly more enthusiastic now that it was less “getting in trouble” and more “recounting an adventure to a large room.”

“Right, so,” he began. “Ve vos op by Zvečaj, jah, becawz dey pulled in all de farmers behind de vallz de odder day und ve tink ve ken get some schoff from de houses dot vere abandoned.”

Nicu took up the story. “De vuns near de town vos preddy picked over, though, und de town hez dose flame thrower gons armed und dey keept shooting et uz.” He shrugged. “So ve go a leetle further afield to see if mebbe some of de liveschtock farmz schtill haff supplies.”

“Und hyu find a sheep farm,” Dimo guessed.

Nicu grinned. “Ho, yez, und all de scheeps schtill in de pen. Zhivko vos sayink mebbe ve sheer a bunch of dem und den keel und haul a bunch beck to base, und ve vos tinking of de best vay to do dot und schtill haff hands to bring votever vos in de house schtill, und _den_ —“ He paused for dramatic effect.

“Den de odder squad kom over de hill und de Sarge schtart bellowing dot ve all get in de pen und schtay down,” Horia interjected, ruining the effect. “So ve go in de pen, und the scheep schtart runnink around becawz dey iz schtartled, und ve all gets a leetle trampled but not so bad until somevun get de hydea to keel a sheep und use it as a shield from de odder sheep.”

“So den Zhivko ask de sarge vot iz going on, right, und he say dot dey run into a squad of Knights of Jove in de beeg clanks vit de cannons built into deir arms,” Nicu told them, not to be outdone by sheep as anti-sheep-trampling measures. “Und dey gots three of dem und Athanasi gots a leetle concussed und so dey iz fallink back to find a better ambush schpot, but dey gets too close to Zvečaj’s flame throwers! So dey haff to retreat und dey run into us,” he finished with a flourish. All the Jӓgers in the room made noises of understanding.

“Und dot’s vhen de clanks come over de hill,” Horia said dramatically.

“Bot dey ken’t see os becawz ve gots scheeps on os all schneaky-like,” Nicu continued gleefully. His audience murmured approvingly at this obviously well planned tactical move. “So Sarge iz talkink to Zhivko und Veli about how ve ken gets de clanks vitout de clanks blowing all hour heads off—“

“Less a problem for some den odders,” Horia quipped, smirking at Nicu. Nicu elbowed him in the ribs again and continued as though he hadn’t heard him.

“—und Zhivko say ve came out for supplies und ve can’t chust go back und giff all de supplies to the Knights of Jove, jah?”

“Thenk hyu,” Dimo said wryly, snorting.

Nicu nodded and continued. “So dot’s ven Veli say vhy dun ve use de scheeps as a deestraction, since ve need de scheeps und dere is too many for uz to get past de clanks vit und not be seen. Und Sarge ask vot he mean und he say vell de scheeps are all skared alreddy so vhy not run dem at de clenks to get under foot und den go through hourselves!”

“Ho, goot plan,” Ionel said from the back of the room. He was promptly shushed by everyone else.

“It almost vork, too,” Horia said. “Ve kick out de pen und Toma scare de sheep und dey go runnink et de clenks und ve all jump on a sheep und grab on—“

“Zhivko hed to trow de sheep he vos usink to not get trempled at vun ov de clenks becawz it gets caught on his back qvills. He didn’t tink a sheep could carry heem und a dead sheep togedder,” Nicu added, conspiratorily. Everyone snickered.

“--und de first clenk get tripped op by de sheep und fall into vun of de beck clenks,” Horia said, glaring at Nicu for the interruption with eyes that had gone from black to annoyed red. “But de odder clenks iz schtill op und dey schtart shooting. But _den_ Zhivko say to shove sheep into de mechanisms ov de clenks as ve go under!”

“Becawz his sheep dot he trew got caught und it made vun ov de clenks schtart to fall,” Nicu explained, taking up the story and grinning smugly at Horia for the sudden relevance of his sheep-related interruption. “De scheeps din like it much, but neither did de clenks, so dot vos alright,” he added, turning back to Dimo. “Und den vun ov de clenks schtart falling _forward_ und Horia pick op vun ov de dead scheeps on de ground und he kick de front panel open und shove de scheep _in de engine_. De whole ting _caught on fire_ , it vos great.”

“Und den Hy grab de cannon arm off und shoot de last clank und grab dot cannon arm und trow it to Sarge, und ve gets de rest of dem from behind, und den ve turn de schtampede back toward base!” Horia finished with a flourish. There was thunderous applause, including from Spas, who apparently had forgotten that they’d conveniently left out him getting trampled.

Dimo, unfortunately, actually needed to know that so he could tell Olga. He cleared his throat. “Und… how did Spas get run over?”

“…ah.” Nicu deflated. “Um. Vell, ve sort ov lost control ov de scheeps.”

“Jah,” Horia said, deflating too and reaching up to scratch the back of his head again. Little dried flakes of mud and whatever had been in that pen fell off, scattering onto the floor. Dimo eyed them skeptically. Olga was going to shit bricks when she found out what that was... “Dere vos a Wulfenbach airship dot flew overhead, jah, und it schtarted droppink bombs—“

“Und Milosh had vun ov de cannons den so he shoot de airship und it schtart falling—“

“Und de sheep gots verra skared becaws ov de cannon und den becaws de airship vos verra bright ven it crash down und dey schtart… headink schtraight for de base.” Horia chuckled sheepishly. “Ve vos tryink to get dem to go annoder vay und shoutink at everyvun to clear de path but, ah…”

“Bot dey vos movink kind of fast,” Spas filled in wryly. “Hy jump over und push off vun sheep but Hy schtill land in the middle of dem.”

“…Hy see,” Dimo said, amongst the snickering. “Und den vot?”

“Vell… ve gots de scheeps penned in at de entrance, und the odders vos tryink to make en enclosure real qvick-like vhile ve go beck for Spas und run heem in to Frau Olga,” Nicu explained, shrugging.

Of course, that was when four sheep went barreling past the door with Dario hot on their heels, a sheep under each arm, shouting at everyone to _move out of de vay_!

Dimo sighed as the entire infirmary burst out laughing. Somehow, he _just knew_ he was going to be the one organizing the great sheep hunt to come.

* * *

“We have to do something about him, Dimo,” Zeetha snarled in lieu of greeting, storming into Dimo’s supply closet and slamming her hands down on the desk. The wood tipped alarmingly, and Dimo lunged for the stacks of paper while Zeetha, eyes wide, tilted the wood back onto the buckets with a  _bang_ . Dimo, now holding what used to be three stacks of more-or-less organized reports, gave her his dirtiest look.

“Um, sorry,” Zeetha said, sounding sheepish. Dimo sighed and waved her off.

“Iz fine. Do someting about who?”

“Oh. Wooster,” Zeetha said, bristling like an angry cat all over again. Dimo blinked.

“Vot, de schneaky guy who vanted to take Miz Agatha to England?” he asked.

“Yes,” Zeetha said, and sat on the bucket reserved for visitors. “He’s been popping up all over the place, getting into trouble and disrupting the supply runs.”

Well! “Disruptink dem how,” Dimo asked, putting his papers back onto his plank desk and sitting back. “Disruptink dem on purpose? Iz he tryink to schtop os getting supplies, or chust de Knights of Jove or Wulfenbach supplies, or…”

“No, he’s…” Zeetha sighed, slumped in frustration. “I’m not actually sure what he thinks he’s _doing_ ,” she complained. “He just… keeps placing himself in dangerous positions in the middle of supply runs and nearly getting himself killed! I think Oggie and Veaceslav decided the best thing to do is to remove him from the situation and leave him somewhere he can’t follow us, but it’s distracting the Jӓgers and they’re beginning to have to leave behind supplies to get him out of the way, not to mention taking damage. Olga is going to wring my neck soon, and—“

“Hy get it,” Dimo said, and rubbed at his face. What did the idiot think he was doing? All he was accomplishing was making himself a prominent target— “Hyu tink he’s tryink to get our attention?” Dimo asked, half to himself.

“Well, if he is, he’s got it,” Zeetha growled, crossing her arms. “And soon he’s going to regret getting it.”

“…Hm,” Dimo said. “Vell, hyu iz right, ve ken’t chust leave him out dere to keep gettink in de vay, und he helped Miz Agatha, so Hy tink she’d be opset iffen ve chust keeled him.” He stood up. “Hy go und talk to Veaceslav. Next time vun ov his boys sees him, dey brink him in. Den ve ken ask him vot der dumboozle he tinks he iz doink.”

* * *

Three days later, Wooster was carried into the projector room by a harried-looking Jӓger and plopped down in one of the seats. Dimo pushed his hat up from where it had been resting over his eyes, then rocked the chair back onto all four legs and put his feet back on the ground. He looked between them and raised an eyebrow from across the projector table.

“…Hy dunno if he should be in here,” he mused.

“He vanted to talk to hyu,” Stosh said, throwing his arms up in exhasperation. “He vouldn’t schot op about it. Din’t vant to go to de infirmary, din’t vant to go to Miz Judy—“

“Does he _need_ to go to de infirmary?” Dimo asked, eying Wooster skeptically. He didn’t look hurt, and Dimo couldn’t smell blood or sickness or anything, but maybe he’d sprained a rib or something.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” Wooster said, pointedly crossing his arms.

“See?” Stosh howled, practically stomping his feet. “Hy giff op. _Hyu_ deal vit heem now, ve gots heem here und now iz _hyu turn_. Hy iz gon go see Cosmina.”

“Vot happened to Cosmina?” Dimo asked, suddenly much more alert.

“ _Dis_ vun,” Stosh started forbiddingly, “gots in de vay ov a Wulfenbach transport, und she jumped from vun transport onto dot transport und dragged heem out ov de vay, bot she gots too moch momentum und fell off.”

Dimo winced. “She got clear ov de vheels?”

“Vell, yez,” Stosh said dismissively. “Dey only run over her foot, so she gets a new vun from Meester Ponch und be fine. Bot iz de principle!”

“Vhy didn’t she chust tackle him?” Dimo asked, then turned to Wooster. “Vhy didn’t she chust tackle hyu? No, better question, vot vos hyu doink jumping in front of Wulfenbach transports like dot, hyu vould haff been _squashed like a bog_.”

“But I wasn’t,” Wooster pointed out. “As I had not been any number of times in the past. Not a scratch on me.” He raised an eyebrow at Dimo. “One does begin to notice a pattern eventually. In fact, one would think the Jӓgers are going out of their way to keep me alive.”

Personally, Dimo would have preferred Wooster be a little banged up than one of their best runners need to replace her foot, but he didn’t say that. “Hy go und see her later,” he told Stosh. “Hy need to beat some sense into dis guy first.”

“Hokay, Hy tell her hyu iz comink,” Stosh said. “She dun haff a foot, so she ken’t run avay. Hy sit on her until hyu get dere.”

Dimo snorted. “Sounds goot.” Stosh nodded, and then left, sticking his tongue out at Wooster as he passed.

“Hokay,” Dimo said. “Ve iz gon haff a friendly leedle chat about vhy gettink hour runners’ feet crushed iz bad for hyu health.”

Wooster winced. “Ah,” he said, “that… sounds much worse, when phrased like that.”

“Mm,” Dimo said. “Ve like hyu, hyu help Miz Agatha und tell de generals about de Baron’s plans to bomb de town, bot iffen hyu get into enny more trouble ve iz gon haff to do someting about it.”

“Well, I’d say you already have,” Wooster pointed out reasonably. “You captured me and brought me to your base, which was actually my goal to begin with, so I have little need to continue to be disruptive.” Dimo blinked, and then stared at him.

“…Hokay,” Dimo said. “Dis Hy got to hear. Vhy deed hyu vant de Jӓgers to keednap hyu und take hyu to de sekret base, vhere hyu iz schtuck vitout enny allies?”

“Politics,” Wooster told him, as though this explained everything.

“…uh huh,” Dimo said. “Verra interestink. Hy underschtand hyu entire schtupid thought process now, iz a miracle.” Wooster scowled, looking a little embarrassed.

“Considering my plan _worked_ , I’d say you should give me a little credit.”

“Hy iz tryink,” Dimo explained, “bot all Hy haff to go on iz ‘politiks’.”

Wooster sighed. “The people in this area of the world take all the mystery out of this job,” he muttered. “Fine. I have been assigned by Her Majesty to keep tabs on developments in this area of the world—as punishment for failing so spectacularly in the previous debacle,” he explained. “To do that, I need a safe base of operations. There are only three options.” He raised three fingers. Dimo nodded. “I can’t return to Wulfenbach for obvious reasons—I suspect I’ve rather burned my bridges there.” He looked a bit sad at that, as he put down a finger. “And the Knights of Jove have about four different factions currently, all of them vying for power over the other. It’s rather unclear at the moment which will win the struggle, and allying with the wrong one and getting myself killed will hardly serve my mission or my country.” He lowered a finger.

“That leaves one option.” He put down the final finger and lowered his hand. “I attempted to get your attention through… less drastic means, but it turns out subtlety is not the strong suit of this army,” Wooster said wryly.

“Vell, no,” Dimo said. “Haff hyu _met_ ennyvun in dis army?”

“Precisely. I needed to make contact, and I needed to do it in such a way as to… acquire an invitation to your base of operations, which nobody has been able to find, by the way,” Wooster informed him.

“…So, hyu got us to keednap hyu so hyu could be here to schpy on us?” Dimo clarified.

“…Well, yes, I suppose, although I’d think, considering our past interractions, that it would be more a sharing of information—“

“Wow,” Dimo interrupted, impressed. “Hyu iz _schneaky_. Ve ken’t effen get rid of hyu now, becawz hyu vould haff to go to de Knights of Jove, und hyu know vhere ve _iz_.”

“…that is true,” Wooster agreed, “although, once again, I do hope the situation does not have to be a hostile one, as in the past we have collaborated—“

“Or ve could chust keel hyu,” Dimo pointed out, and propped his chin up on his hand, elbow resting on the projector. “No more threat to de base _or_ the Heterodyne’s proprieetary eenformation. Problem solved.”

Wooster opened his mouth, closed it again, stared at Dimo. Dimo stared back, making sure his face was as bland as possible.

“Well…” Wooster began, and fell silent again. Then he seemed to rally. Dimo cocked his head, genuinely interested in what Wooster would say now. “That does seem,” Wooster said carefully, “like an awful lot of wasted effort, considering how much time and energy you have spent keeping me alive.”

“Naw,” Dimo said, pleasantly. “Dot vos ven hyu might haff had useful eenformation on hour enemies, becawz hyu iz a schneak. Now it turns out hyu don’t haff dot, hyu vant it from _os_ , und ve haff to feed und protect hyu for de preeveleege.” He shook his head and gave Wooster a mournful look. “Iz not cost eefective.”

“…Ah,” Wooster said, and finally started to smell nervous. Dimo smiled. “Of course, you are aware that doing so would make you and your Mistress a very powerful enemy. Her Majesty, Queen Albia—“

Dimo snorted and rolled his eyes. He sat back, crossing his arms, and eying Wooster up and down. “Hyu haff to do better den dot, keedo. Hyu say hyuself, hyu iz here for punishment. Hyu qveen knows hyu might not come beck. Iz a chence to _prove_ hyuself to her, yez?” He rolled his eyes. “Ve keel hyu here, und she vould neffer know vot happened to hyu. Iffen she _esk_ , vhich she von’t, ve say, so sad, he gots run over by a Wulfenbach transport, nottink ve could do.” Then he grinned. Wooster gulped. “Or, ve tell her de trooth. Dot sounds like more fon, ecktually…” He paused for a few seconds, looking at the ceiling, and then shook his head. “But hyu iz right, Miz Agatha vould be verra annoyed iffen ve did dot.”

“Agatha would likely be rather annoyed if you killed me in general,” Wooster pointed out.

“Hm… true.” Dimo sighed. “Dot _iz_ more ov a concern. Drat. Ho, vell, ve chust haff to meetigate hyu drain on de resources until she ken say vun vay or de odder.” He leaned forward again, and smiled cheerfully at Wooster. “Hoy, do hyu like heestory?”

“Uh…” Wooster blinked, momentarily thrown by the change of topic. “I do, actually.”

“Hyu know de Heterodyne sackink ov de Hapsburg monarchies in 1579?” Dimo asked.

“…I do indeed!”

“Jah, vos mine first big campaign.” Dimo sighed nostalgically. “Master Drake, he hear dot de Empire broke op into leedle monarchies or someting, und he say, ve should go und see vot de defenses iz like now! Und den he deedn’t vant to leaf a job half feenished, yez? So ve go all de vay to Spain. Goot times.”

“Um… yes, the Hapsburgs never quite recovered from it…” Wooster offered, clearly confused.

“Hoo, yez, ve vos verra thorough,” Dimo agreed. “Hy gets a genuine Hapsburg seal, too! Hy sent it beck to mine leedle brodder, Hy tink he sowed it into a coat or someting. Mine brodder vos a leedle shit,” Dimo confided.

“That’s… that’s very interesting,” Wooster said, “but what does it have to do with—“

“Ah!” Dimo raised a finger. “Hy iz gettink dere.” Wooster closed his mouth. Dimo smiled, satisfied, and sat back. “So, hyu iz goink to be writink to hyu qveen, yez?”

“…Yes,” Wooster agreed. Dimo nodded.

“Hokay, hyu giff doze to me, und Hy vill tek out enny proprieetery eenformation of de Heterodynes dot she dun need to know,” Dimo said pleasantly. “Und den hyu ken send it to her.”

“What—“ Wooster sputtered. “See here, why would I—“

“Becawz iffen hyu don’t, or iffen hyu try to send schtoff out dot Hy dun vant sent out, Hy iz gon personally scoop hyu schneaky eyes out vit mine claws und make hyu _eat_ dem,” Dimo said, dropping the pleasant act like a brick off a cliff. “Und iffen hyu try to run, dis army iz gon take hyu preedy leedle Empire apart like ve did de Hapsburgs.”

They stared at each other over the projector. Wooster pinched his lips, narrowed his eyes at Dimo, mind clearly whirling. Dimo narrowed his eyes back, and otherwise stayed exactly where he was.

“…that…would be acceptable,” Wooster agreed finally, tight and short.

Dimo grinned. “Hokay,” he said cheerfully, and boosted himself over the projector, landing next to Wooster. Wooster flinched like he wanted to go for the little knives lining his jacket that he thought Dimo hadn’t noticed. Dimo inwardly scoffed, and threw an arm around Wooster’s neck, dragging him out of the seat and towards the door. “Goot talk.”

“Quite,” Wooster said, as wryly as he could while a Jӓger was dragging him around by the neck.

“Hy brink hyu to Miz Judy now,” Dimo informed him. “Hyu should haff gone dere first, dot’s vhere de civilianz is supposed to go unless dey iz injured. Vhy deed hyu vant to talk to _me_ , ennyvay? Hy mean, hyu know me, Hy guess, bot hyu also know Oggie und Maxim und Miz Zeetha—actually, Hy vouldn’t go talk to Miz Zeetha if Hy vos hyu. She kind ov vants to yell et hyu for de supply runs.” He turned abruptly around a corner, dragging Wooster with him.

“Ouch! I didn’t ask to speak to you specifically, actually.”

“Ho, no?” Dimo asked, raising an eyebrow, dragging Wooster around another tight bend. “Dot’s not vot Stosh says, iz all.”

“Well, I asked—gk!—I asked to speak to the base commander,” Wooster explained. “Repeatedly, actually, they wanted to bring me to your Miz Judy—ouch! Will you stop that?”

Dimo _had_ stopped, actually, albeit rather abruptly, causing Wooster to be carried by his momentum straight into Dimo’s arm around his neck. He stared at Wooster, mouth dropped open in shock.

“Hyu esked for de base commander und Stosh brought hyu to _me_?” he asked, horrified.

“Well, yes,” Wooster said, pointedly attempting to extract himself from Dimo’s grip. Dimo let him go. “Aren’t you?”

“ _No_ ,” Dimo said, reaching up to grab his hair. “ _No_ , Hy iz _not_. Hy mean… ve don’t haff vun, ecktually, or dey’re all frozen in Mechanicsburg—“ He closed his mouth, swallowed the two or three things he was about to babble out in his own defense. “Hy iz not commanding de base,” he repeated firmly.

“…I see,” Wooster said, raising an eyebrow.

“Hy _izn’t_ ,” he stressed.

“Okay,” Wooster said agreeably.

“ _Argh_.” Dimo grabbed Wooster again and started marching him down the corridor. “Kom on, Hy haff to get hyu to Miz Judy so Hy ken go und smack Stosh around to get dot hydea out of his head. Base commander—mrrgh, no vay in hell, Hy von’t do it, dey ken’t make me—“

Wooster let himself be steered all the way to Miz Judy’s, and wisely kept his mouth shut the entire time Dimo was propelling him into her domain and barking a (very brief) explanation as to who he was and what he was doing there, and then Dimo was out the door again and stomping his way to the infirmary.

Base commander. Fah!

* * *

Three weeks after Wooster’s arrival, Dimo was passing by one of the engine rooms when the distinct sound of a body hitting something metal stopped him in his tracks, surprised. He sniffed the air—no blood, okay—and then opened the door and let himself in, casual-like, to see what the fuck.

That kid, the one who kept ending up inside machines, was being held against the body of a generator by his shoulders, an older boy looming over him and grinning meanly down. Flanking him were two other teenagers, a boy and a girl. The girl was holding a wrench.

“Where do you think you’re going with _this_ then, pest,” she was crooning, waving the wrench under the kid’s nose. The kid gulped, and curled in on himself as much as he could with both shoulders held. “This how you’ve been getting into the machinery? Let yourself in and close up behind you?”

“Go kiss a badger,” the boy said, and then winced as the girl slammed the wrench into the metal over his head.

“That was rude. Wasn’t that rude, Victor?”

“Very rude,” the teenager on the other side of the one holding their captive said. “I think this one needs to learn manners, what do you think Florin?”

“I agree,” the teenager holding the boy said cheerfully, and then pulled his shoulders back and slammed him back into the generator with a _clang_. The boy winced. “Apologize to Irina then, little mouse. Come on—“

“Problems in here,” Dimo asked, and strode out of the shadow he’d been lurking in by the door.

The teenager holding the machine kid immediately dropped him, Dimo noticed. He suppressed a satisfied growl.

“No… no, sir, we were—“

“Hyu vere takink it upon hyuselves to do a leedle deescipline,” Dimo said, letting his eyes go hooded and angry. “Hy didn’t hear hyu vos appointed ennyvun’s superior officer. Mine mistake.”

“He—“ the girl cleared her throat, squared her shoulders. “We work with Mister Punch, and this kid keeps making extra work for everyone—he was going to open the machine with a wrench, sir, we caught him—“

“Hy deedn’t ask hyu vot _he_ vos doink,” Dimo interrupted, a low growl rising under his words, and the girl jumped again and backed into the generator. “Hy deedn’t effen ask hyu vot _hyu_ vos doink, Hy _told_ hyu vot hyu vos doink, und den asked hyu _who gave hyu de authoreety to do eet_.”

“I… nobody, sir.”

“ _Nobody_ , Hy _see_ ,” Dimo said, and took a step forward, crossed his arms and glared at her. “Hyu vos takink _initiateev_ den, thought hyu’d take it upon hyuselves to teech a keed half hyu age _manners_. Hy tink mebbe _hyu_ is due for a lesson hyuselves, sveethot, vot do _hyu_ tink?”

“I… sorry,” the girl said, pressing as far back as she could, holding the wrench tightly. Dimo fought not to roll his eyes and growl for real in frustration. Blue fire, he wasn’t going to _hurt_ them… “We’re sorry, very—we shouldn’t have—won’t happen again, sir, please—“

Dimo let his eyes slide from her to her compatriots. Both boys were practically cowering, two steps away from their friend. “ _Vere do hyu tink hyu iz goink_ ,” he snapped, and they jumped. The one who’d held the younger kid down made a whimpering noise, like he was about to cry. “ _Deed Hy say hyu two could go ennyvhere? Vell?_ ”

“N-no, sir. Sorry, sir. We’re—“

“Vhy,” Dimo asked, perfectly reasonably he felt, “iz hyu apologizink to me?” He turned back to the girl, twisting his face into a thoughtful look. “Hm, yez, Hy tink hyu three iz all apologizink to de wrong guy, here. Hy tink hyu should apologize to de _boy_ , don’t hyu?” He grinned at them. “Dot’s chust _goot manners_ , hyu know."

He grabbed one of the teenagers by the arm and spun him to face the machine kid who was—backed into a corner, scared and trying to make himself look small. _Damn_ , Dimo thought. _Fix it later_. “Hyu first,” he said, right in the teen’s ear, and shoved him towards the kid.

The teen stumbled, came to a stop right in front of the machine kid, arms out to catch himself against the wall. “S-sorry,” he muttered.

“Goot,” Dimo said. “Now get out ov de vay. Hyu,” he said, pointing at the girl, who jumped. “Hyu next. Giff heem beck his wrench, too, vhile hyu iz at it.”

She did, and muttered an apology, and the third little idiot went after her without needing to be told. Dimo watched the whole process, glowering, and then eyed them up and down as he decided what to do next.

Behind them, the machine kid clutched his wrench, now probably more terrified than he was when he was being bullied. Dimo sighed internally. “…Hy,” he said, looking his captives up and down, “iz goink to brink hyu to hyu mommas, und talk to Meester Ponch about hyu,” he said, voice level but for the low growl he let float underneath, “und let dem deal vit hyu. Bot,” and here he stepped forward again and grinned. “If Hy _ever_ hear about dis happenink again, hyu iz gon haff to deal vit _me_.” He waited until they looked properly ready to piss themselves, and then pointed a thumb behind him at the door. “Go vait outside for me. _Don’t_ make me kom find hyu.” They stared at him, unmoving. “ _Now_ ,” he snapped, and they ran, door banging shut behind him.

Dimo listened to make sure the footsteps stopped just outside the door, and then turned to look at his other problem.

The machine kid was still in the corner, clutching his wrench. Dimo walked over, trying to look as harmless as possible, and the boy still flinched. Damn it, kids were too easy to scare. How many times had he dragged this kid out of the machinery, anyway, you’d think he’d have a little more faith that Dimo wasn’t likely to hurt him—

“Hey,” he said quietly, squatting down a full arm length away. “Hyu hokay, keed?” The kid looked at him warily. “Hy izn’t goink to _hurt_ hyu,” Dimo said, a little exasperated, and then shut his mouth and took a deep breath. He eyed the wrench. “Dot how hyu haz been gettink into de machines?” he asked, casually. “Dot’s verra schmott, open it op und close it behind hyu. Hyu like it in de machines?”

“It’s mine,” the kid said, sounding distressed.

“Hyu iz velcome to it,” Dimo assured him. “Hy iz bad at machines. Hy valk by und dey fall apart, chust like dot.” The kid looked doubtfully at the generator, and then at Dimo’s arm.

“Not all of them,” he said, slowly.

“Giff it time,” Dimo assured him, and pulled a silly face. The kid giggled a little. Great, progress!

“How do hyu get de bolts back in right iffen hyu iz inside,” he asked. “Do hyu hook dem, or…” The kid pulled out some string. “Ah, hyu _haff_ given dis some thought.” Dimo settled back. “Vhy hyu climb into de machinery, hm? Hyu could get hurt in dere!” The kid shook his head again, making the string disappear back into his pocket. “No? Hyu couldn’t?” Dimo asked, a little amused.

“I go to the areas where there aren’t moving parts,” the kid informed him, slowly, like Dimo was a bit of an idiot.

Well, fair enough.

“Vhere vould hyu haff gone in de generator, den?” Dimo asked, getting up to look the machine up and down, crossing his arms and tilting his head thoughtfully. “Iz supposed to be hot, jah? Hyu get hyu hair burned off.”

“This one isn’t on,” the kid said.

“Could be turned on,” Dimo offered.

“Nah, it’s broken,” the kid said.

“Ho? How do hyu know?” Dimo asked, turning back and raising an eyebrow. The kid shrugged, looking away. “Ho, come on, hyu can’t chust say dot und den shrug at me, how do hyu know?”

“It’s not connected like the last one,” the kid muttered.

Dimo blinked. “Ho?”

“Mister Punch moved one of the pipes to make the last one work, and this one has the same pipe but it hasn’t been moved,” the kid clarified. Dimo stared.

“Iz hyu a Spark, keed?” The kid shook his head. “Hm… Hy bet dot doezn’t last…” The kid shrugged, and looked away. Dimo sighed. Well, at least he wasn’t scared anymore. “Vhy dun hyu let me take hyu back to hyu momma, hm?”

“Are the others still outside?” the kid asked.

“…Yez,” Dimo told him, kneeling back down. “Dey iz schtill outside. Bot dey iz super skared ov _me_ , so dey von’t do ennyting. Dere enny odder kids like dot?” The kid shrugged. “Hm…” Something to talk to Judy about. “How ‘bout Hy carry hyu, und den dey von’t do ennyting. Sound goot?”

“…Why?” the kid asked.

Dimo shrugged. “Vhy not?”

“…okay,” the kid said, and let Dimo swing him onto his back.

“Hokay,” Dimo said cheerfully. “Hy brink hyu back to hyu momma, den Hy let _their_ mommas deal vit _dem_ , sound good?”

“Okay.”

“Hokay,” Dimo said, and then stepped out to deal with the teenagers.

* * *

Olga marched into Dimo’s supply closet and slammed her hands down on his desk. It now being a real desk with a real nailed on top, it did not tip and scatter all of Dimo’s papers all over the floor like it had when Zeetha had done the same a month ago. Dimo counted that as a win. “Hallo, Frau Olga,” Dimo said, giving her his most charming smile.

“You haven’t looked into my regulars yet,” Olga growled, glaring. “I know, because Ionel just came in again. Do you know what he’s done to himself now?” Dimo groaned mentally.

“No hydea,” he told her dutifully. “Vot did he do to himself now?”

“He broke his back,” Olga said, and Dimo stilled. “He apparently tried to get under a clank foot as it was coming down, and it came down on his back.”

“Vot der dumboozle—“ Dimo started.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Olga snapped, and slammed her hands down again.

“Vot, did he chust… mistime it?” Dimo asked. “Vhy vos he tryink to get at a clenk from behind by goink underneath it?”

“I _don’t know_ , Dimo, if they were _sharing their thought processes_ with me, I wouldn’t have had to ask _you_!”

“Oh, schtop shoutink,” Dimo snarled.

“Then _figure out what’s going on_!”

“Hy _vill_ ,” Dimo shouted, slamming his own hands down on the desk and standing so they were eye to eye. “Blue _fire_ , giff me a moment to _tink_.” They glared at each other for a minute, teeth bared, Dimo’s blood thrumming through his head like an ocean tide, and then Olga looked away. Dimo huffed, and then sat back down.

“How many ov dem iz doink tings dot schtupid?” he asked.

“I’d say about twelve at last count,” Olga told him, standing up and crossing her arms. “But if you ask me, about five or six of those are incidental.”

Dimo smirked a little, snorted. “Hyu tink dey fell een vit a bad crowd, or someting?”

“I think they’re getting caught in the cross fire of some of the other idiots, and they’re covering for them,” Olga snapped. Dimo sighed.

“Ken hyu get me a leest?”

“I can tell you right now.”

“Ho, yez, becawz Hy iz known for mine total recall, Hy ken see vhy hyu’d tink Hy vould chust remember tvelve names und all de schtupid tings dey did to send dem into hyu tender care,” Dimo snapped.

“Fine,” Olga snapped right back, and grabbed a pen and paper, writing furiously. Dimo rolled his eyes, and snatched the list when she was done. Petty, but at the moment he didn’t really care.

“…Most ov dese iz under de same three sergeants,” Dimo muttered.

“Oh, well, I’d say you found a problem! It only took one glance at a list! Pity you didn’t bother before Ionel let himself get squashed—“

“Frau Olga,” Dimo said levelly, putting down the paper. “Ve iz on de _same side_ here.” Olga shut her mouth. Dimo sighed, and rubbed his temples. “Same three sergeants doesn’t mean de sergeants iz doink someting,” he explained. “It means… dey iz on de same squad. Dey talk. Hyu iz probably right dot dey iz coverink for somevun. Hy need to talk to de sergeants, dey should at least haff en _hydea_ vot is goink on in their own squads—“

“Hmph,” Olga said. Dimo looked at her, but she was looking at the list, a worried frown on her face.

“Hy vill look into dis,” he assured her, quietly, feeling less hostile in light of that worry in spite of himself. “Hy vill figure out vot dey tink dey iz doink, und Hy vill bash their heads together until de thought iz knocked out. Hokay?”

“See that you do,” Olga said, and turned and stomped out of the supply closet.

Dimo stared at the empty doorway, and then rolled his eyes. “Alvays a pleasure,” he muttured to the empty room, and gave himself a moment to be the strange combination of amused and put-upon that always came with dealing with Olga these days. Then he pulled the list towards him again and settled in to decide who he needed to shake.

* * *

Dimo looked from Dorin, who was clutching his hat and glaring at the Jӓgers next to him out of the corner of his eye, to Yavor and Vendula, who were clutching each other and clearly trying very hard not to start cackling again.

Dimo was having a bit of trouble not laughing himself, to be frank. He forced his mouth down into something approaching a serious expression and told himself very sternly that this was _not the time_. “So…” he started, a little choked. “So, let me see iffen Hy gots dis. Dorin vos—sorry.” He held up a hand and took a deep breath, turning away to force the grin off his face. “Dorin vos asleep at his posting, und hyu two decide,” he paused and cleared his throat to fight down a laugh, “decide dot he needs taught a lesson. So hyu find a rat und giff it Frau Olga’s—Frau Olga’s schleepy schtoff—pfffsorry, sorry, hold on.”

“Iz not _fonny_ ,” Dorin snapped.

“Iz kind of fonny,” Dimo admitted, putting a hand over his mouth to try to force the ends down. Dorin glared. “Yez, sorry, hokay.” He cleared his throat. “So Vendula und Yavor tek the schleepink rat und—und put it _under hyu hat_ —“ Dimo had to stop again. Yavor and Vendula cracked up.

“ _Dimo_ ,” Dorin said, almost whining. Dimo clamped a hand over his mouth, and then took a few deep breaths and started talking over the cackling.

“Right, so dey put de rat under hyu hat, vhich for some reason hyu _didn’t notice_ —“ Oh god. Okay. “Und den de rat vake op und take off und—“ Dimo lost the battle, at least turning away before he doubled over laughing.

“Iz _not fonny_ ,” Dorin practically wailed, stomping his foot. “Hy had to chase mine hat through _three tonnels_ —“

Vendula made a noise like a dying whale and doubled over, clutching her stomach. Yavor, who had been using her as support, fell on top of her, laughing too hard to stop himself.

“Hy had to abandon mine posting to chase mine hat,” Dorin insisted, clutching the hat in question in frustration and embarrassment. “Dey made me abandon mine posting, dot’s not fonny, dot’s—“

Dimo held up a hand, taking deep, even breaths to quiet his laughter down to the occasional chuckle, and then stood up straight again and turned to look at Dorin, wiping tears out of his eyes. “Hy… dun tink dot’s moch ov a problem, honestly,” he said, still snickering. “Considerink hyu vere _so deeply asleep_ hyu deedn’t notice—“ he snorted again, and then rallied. “Deedn’t notice dem puttink a _live rat_ on hyu head.”

“ _Schtop_ ,” Yavor wailed, clutching his stomach. “Ow… ow… oh, red _fire_ —“ he dissolved into giggles again.

Dorin had the good grace to look a little sheepish at that, which was good. “Um… yez, Hy iz sorry about dot,” he muttured looking away.

“Hm,” Dimo replied, raising an eyebrow pointedly. To be fair, there was quite a long tradition of stealing naps while on guard duty—Dimo often napped himself when he was supposed to be acting as sentry, honestly—but everyone also knew that you _weren’t supposed to get caught_ , which meant at most an acceptable nap was a light doze that you could come out of looking attentive at a moment’s notice.

Dimo would have shouted at him, and then taken him off the roster as punishment and let him be _bored_ , but honestly the incoming teasing for this was going to be punishment enough.

Still, though, Dimo probably should say something. It wouldn’t do for Dorin to think he could do it _again_. Dimo pursed his lips, and then opened his mouth to tell Dorin exactly that—

“Dimo!” Dimo turned, surprised, just as Octavian came skidding around the corner, stopping short. “Ve need hyu in de projector room _right now_ , dere’s sometink hyu haff to see!”

“…Right, Dimo said, and turned back to his audience. “Yavor und Vendula,” he said to the pile of Jӓger, which had finally quieted to pained snickering. “Hyu go und tell efferyvun hyu ken about de prank. Mek eet sound _verra embarrasink_.”

“Bot—“ Dorin sputtered over the once again increased cackling, but Dimo was already dashing away.

“Hyu fell asleep at hyu post,” Dimo called over his shoulder. “Hyu iz lucky hyu iz schtill on de roster! Ve talk more later, though, haff to go!” He turned to Octavian, who was keeping pace with him, wringing his hands and looking generally pretty concerned. “Vot’s op?” he asked, as they took the fork that would lead them to the projector room and sped down the corridor.

“Hyu see vhen ve get dere,” Octavian said, as they rounded the final bend and skidded to a halt at the door of the projector room. “Izn’t goot, though.”

“Hrmph,” Dimo grumbled, and then they were through the door and he was striding up to the projector, coming to a stop next to Desi and Iosef, both of whom looked as worried as Octavian. “Hokay,” Dimo said, looking at the scene they had up. “Vot iz so important dot—“

He stopped and stared.

“…Go und get Meester Wooster.”

Octavian, who was still hovering halfway between the door and the projector, turned and ran out. Dimo sat down in the chair.

“Vhen deed dis happen?” he asked Iosef grimly. He’d not had a shift in the projector room yet this week, he’d been busy giving Zeetha a hand, and there’d been the Jӓger injuries he’d been looking into for Olga—

“Hy noteeced chust a few minutes ago,” Iosef said, grave. He reached up to adjust his hat, then visibly paused as he remembered he didn’t have one (apparently his sweetie in Mechanicsburg swiped it as insurance he’d be back for a date before the barrier went up and he refused to get another one), and ran his claws through his hair instead. “Hy svitched de picture und it vos like dis. Hy grab Octavian und Desi out ov de corridor to mek sure iz vot Hy vos tinking it vos, bot—“

“Mm,” Dimo agreed.

“Octavian said ve should go und get hyu,” Desi added, quietly. Dimo nodded, wordlessly watching the figures busily march across the scene, constructing—it really looked like they were constructing—but _why_ , this wasn’t a strategically significant position for _anything_ except—

“Hy got heem,” Octavian announced, propelling Wooster before him into the room and shutting the door firmly behind them.

“Goot,” Dimo said, and looked up. “Hallo!” he said as cheerfully as he could manage. “Time for hyu to earn hyu keep. Kom here.”

“What happened?” Wooster asked, brushing himself off absently as he walked over to Dimo and looked at the projected scene. Dimo pointed at it.

“Dot,” he said, “iz a runvay tventy miles avay from dis base. Lest ennyvun checked, it vos under Wulfenbach control, und de most dey deed vit eet vos occasionally lend to do some repairs.” He turned to look at Wooster, growl rising in his throat. “Hyu say hyu know about de Knight ov Jove factions. Who iz dot, vhy does he haff en armored company vit heem, und most importantly, _vhy_ iz he buildink a fortification een _hour_ valley _tventy miles from hour tunnels_.”

“Good lord,” Wooster breathed.

“Hyu say dey don’t know ve is here,” Dimo snarled.

“They don’t!” Wooster insisted. “The main factions, anyway. That’s Baron Korbel, he’s not one of the major players.”

“Vell,” Dimo said, definitely growling. “From here, eet looks like he iz now.”

* * *

The fortress was being built right into the mountain, which Dimo felt was kind of unnecessary considering the relative inaccessibility of the valley in question. They’d nestled the beginnings of a base between the foot of the mountain and the runway itself, and begun the process of building up, using the stone they had available.

It looked like Sturmhalten, actually, which could only be intentional. Dimo glared at the structure, hundreds of years of annoyance at the audacity of the Valois faction for _daring_ to try to hem in the Heterodynes bubbling under his skin.

“Iz dey tryink to call os out, do hyu tink?” Yakov asked, watching one of the soldiers in a Knight of Jove clank carefully maneuver a huge stone support pillar into place while another held up the stones that needed support. He frowned, metal legs clanking together as he crossed them absently, checked something on one of the terrain maps of the area that Dimo had pulled out of his seemingly endless store of potentially useful piles of paper.

“Eh,” Oggie replied, shrugging. “Hy dun tink eet mattez iffen dey deed, honestly. Dey iz callink us out either vay.” Major Jadran, who Dimo’d called as the highest-ranking officer on base at the moment, snorted agreement, feathers bristled in a threat display at the Baron as he walked across the scene, low growl rattling near constantly out of his chest.

“You’re definitely going to engage them, then?” Zeetha asked, sharpening one of her swords absently as she also tracked the Baron, eyes narrowed.

“Ov course,” Maxim said from the other side of the table, from where he was watching Tymon drum out a steady, agitated rhythm against the side of the projector with his claws. “Ve should haff before, bot it vos a low threat und ve iz too undermanned to be throwink Jӓgers at doze.”

“Put hyu hend down before Hy break all hyu fingers,” Yakov growled. Tymon glared, and kept tapping.

“Iz tventy miles avay,” Jadran grumbled. “Dot iz not a low threat, Hy dun care who holds it or vot dey iz usink it for.”

“Ho, vell,” Tymon interjected, tapping fingers coming to a halt as he looked up from the projector and glared at Jadran. “Hy deedn’t see _hyu_ comink op vit a better plan, _sir_ , so mebbe hyu schtop giffink hyu opinion about vot _should_ haff been done und help kom op vit vot ve should do _now_.”

Jadran bristled, red and green feathers fluffing out in another threat display. “Who iz hyu talkink to, _sergeant_ ,” he growled, baring his teeth. Tymon tensed, weight shifting forward to rest on his feet. Yakov’s eyes cut to them over the papers, shoulders tight and mouth turned down. Dimo sighed.

Considering Dimo, Oggie, Maxim, and Zeetha were all unranked, and Veaceslav wasn’t back from patrol and thus not here yet, Tymon was the lowest ranking voice in the room. Dimo’d called him in so he could say “I told you so,” though, since it was only fair, and he’d ended up asking to be part of the strike team.

After saying “I told you so,” of course.

Anyway, Dimo appreciated the support, but he really could defend himself. And also needed this to not not be a brawl. For just, say, ten minutes.

“Now ve need to raze it,” Dimo interjected mildly, cleanly drawing the attention of the entire table onto himself. “Hy talk to Meester Wooster before, und he say dis iz probably dis guy testink de boundaries. Ve—“ Dimo sighed. “Ve deedn’t kom out ov de battle over Mechanicsburg lookink verra goot, hyu know.”

“Vot do hyu mean by _dot_ ,” Jadran asked, narrowing his eyes at Dimo. Dimo glared back.

“Hy _mean_ ve lost de city, und ve even needed de Knights of Jove to keep Wulfenbach deestracted vhile ve vos brinkink de Castle beck online to get dot much—“

“Ve _held_ de city,” Jadran snapped.

“Ve deedn’t,” Dimo said grimly. “Not in enny vay dot de rest ov Europa iz goink to recognize. It doesn’t matter dot nobody _else_ ken control eet, _ve iz not controllink eet_.” He shook is head as Jadran opened his mouth to say something else. “Hy _agree_ vit hyu,” he said. “Bot iz de vay tings _look_ right now, und iz de vay de Knights of Jove iz seeink it. So!” He leaned forward. “Say dis guy,” he jabbed a finger at the Baron, “figured out ve iz here. Iffen he fortifies a runvay right outside hour base, he ken basically march right op to os. So ve haff to respond, yez? Or ve lose even more ground.”

“At least the valley,” Zeetha said matter of factly, “which is _more_ than enough.”

“Mm,” Dimo agreed. “Und iffen ve attack und _lose_ , it means dey iz right about how low a threat ve are.”

“Or dot dey iz wrong about vhere ve iz,” Yakov interjected, looking up. Dimo turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

“Ho?”

“Chust to play devil’s advocate, say ve do nottink,” Yakov suggested. He held up a hand as the entire table sputtered out an objection. “No, vait. Say ve schtay here und let it play out. Vot den? Mebbe Wulfenbach take back its runvay, mebbe not. Mebbe vun ov de odder Knight of Jove factions vipe dis smug eediot off de map for os. Und in de meantime, since ve did nottink, eet means ve either ken’t or ve iz _not here_. Iffen ve attack, dey iz right dot ve iz here.” He shrugged. “Someting to tink about.”

“Hyu tink iz dis guy iz actink on a hunch?” Dimo asked, surprised.

“Hy tink iffen dey knew for sure ve vos here, dey vould haff tried to smoke os out by now,” Yakov explained, leaning back.

“…Fair,” Dimo agreed.

Yakov nodded. “On de odder hand, “ he continued, “ve dun _know_ dis guy’s plenz. Mebbe dot iz vot he do next, who knows.” He cracked his neck. “Iz a gamble either vay.”

“Hyu expectink to lose, old man?” Veaceslav threw, walking into the room with Octavian at his heels. Yakov scowled. “Becawz de vay Hy see eet, iz only a gamble iffen dey iz right dot dey ken beat os. Hy dunno about hyu, but _Hy_ iz op for some reaffurmayshon of vot ve ken do, yez?” He nodded at Dimo and sat. “Hy tink ve raze eet.”

Yakov didn’t respond, looked at Dimo with a raised eyebrow. _Well? What do you think_? Dimo felt the rest of the table turn to look at him too, wondered just when he had gotten the deciding vote in this party. Wondered wistfully if he could give it back.

“Hy tink,” he said slowly, “dot effen a hunch iz too much here. Hy tink iffen iz chust a hunch, und ve don’t respond, und he sends back a report dot he _find_ os, ve is gonna haff beeger problemz den ve vould haff iffen ve chust attacked.” He shrugged. “At least den ve iz too aggressive to poke, yez?”

“Ve haff to attack soon, den,” Jadran said, leaning forward decisively, elbowing Yakov companionably in the ribs. Yakov oophed, and then snorted, rolling his eyes. He gave Dimo a little nod. Approval? Huh. “Dey iz schtill buildink now. De defenses around now iz not complete. Plus, lots of supplies und tings.” Jadran shrugged. “Ve gon haff to be in und out qvick-like, though. Iffen dey _do_ tink ve iz nearby, dey ken probably get reinforcements to kom preedy fest. Ve dun vant to end op out-gunned iffen ve iz tryink for a show ov force.”

“Hy tink mebbe ve need three squads,” Dimo offered. “Enough to make en impression, und schtill few enough to move qvick.”

“Heh,” Veaceslav said, crossing his arms. “Hyu gots a plan, den, boss?”

Dimo looked around at the table, and then at the scene laid out by the projector—the mountain in the foreground, and the diverted river and dam curling around the runway in the old riverbed, and the fortress and all the soldiers behind. “…yez,” he admitted. “Hy tink Hy do.”

* * *

The plan wasn’t complicated. There was a company of Knight of Jove soldiers at the runway, helping to build the fortress and guarding the valley and supplies – food and weapon stores, from what they could tell from the projector, including a small flock of sheep penned into a small alcove at the base of the mountain. A platoon of Jӓgers would be dispatched to distract these—draw them out to the more or less empty area south of the runway and herd them back towards the mountain, leaving room and buying time for the second platoon to work.

This platoon would be stationed in the mineshaft. They’d pour out and down the mountain to the fortress and runway and grab as many supplies as they could, before going back to the fortress and knocking its foundation out, using the distraction to disappear. A few members of the platoon would go openly back up the mountain towards the mine shaft to give the impression the base was somewhere in there, and then divert under the cover of the trees and regroup up where Dimo would be stationed higher on the mountain, overlooking the valley.

The third Jӓger platoon would come from the same direction as the first, and do as much damage to the runway as physically possible before cutting off the Knights of Jove from behind and penning their enemies neatly. Those enemies defeated, the Jӓgers would fall back to base.

The whole thing was planned for about an hour—simple in and out, minimal casualties.

The flyers took them by surprise.

“Incomink!” Oggie hollered, and Dimo turned, cursing, as five Knight of Jove clanks flew in from the south. They were the big ones, too, for the real Knights—their cannons were huge and built directly into their arms. The _boom_ of the impacts with the stone echoed through the valley. Dimo clapped his hands over his ears and bared his teeth, watching the rock rain down on the first wave from above.

“ _Damn it_ ,” he snapped. “Maxim, go tell de second vave to _hold_. Oggie, tell clean-up to go in. Dey need cover!”

“ _Jah_ ,” they responded, throwing themselves over the cliff and down, racing to the second and third waves before the first could be flattened.

The Knights of Jove weren’t supposed to be able to call reinforcements this quickly. They didn’t have any communications equipment, and the armor clanks weren’t equipped with radios, how…

Didn’t matter. With the third wave in the game early they’d be able to take the ground force quick, but there was still no real way to engage the flyers unless they landed. They could reach them in the air if they got close enough to the mountainside, maybe—could throw some Jӓgers up there, take the heat off the ground forces—

A cannon shot went wide, slamming into the pen holding the livestock.  Sheep poured out onto the field, panicked, flattening one clank and knocking two more aside. Dimo watched as one Jӓger used a pole arm to throw himself up and over to land on top of one, and then shoot _up into the air_ , sparking like he’d been struck by lighting.

Hell’s gates and all its guardians, the damn sheep were electrified. Dimo _knew_ those damn stolen sheep would come back to bite him somehow, he _just knew_ —

He cursed, gripping his hair. The field was a mess, they needed to retreat. They couldn’t, though, not without taking out the fortress and the runway—there was the third wave, splitting to go around the Knights of Jove and slamming into them from behind. Dimo saw a few of them make a run at the fortress, clearly drawing fire, using wooden pole-arms to knock the sheep out of the way.

The flyers followed, closing on the mountainside. No, that wasn’t good, the pilots would be in clear view of the second wave when it came—

The second wave could engage from the air, maybe, but they’d have to scrap the supply run—

Another cannon blast, this time nearly into the dam. The whole structure shook, dangerously, water splashing over the side to pool underneath, falling into the old river bed in a wave and sweeping across the dirt towards the runway. The machines sparked.

Dimo got an idea.

He threw himself over the cliff and skidded down the rock, rolling into the momentum and grabbing another lip before he could fly off, digging the metal of his fingers in. He swung down and braced with his feet, then dropped, rolling with his landing and ending up right in front of the opening of the mineshaft.

“Maxim!” he shouted.

“Jah!” Maxim shouted back, skidding into view with Yakov on his heels—slower, the metal legs were good but they weren’t Spark-made—not the time.

“Tell dem to drive de ground troops und sheep into de river bed und keep dem dere—und to schtay on high ground, ve iz gon blow de dam.”

“Got it,” Maxim snapped out, and took off. Dimo turned to Yakov.

“Captain—“

“—ve iz dumping de supply run?” Yakov asked.

“Jah. Hy need… tventy down to take de fortress, und de rest on doze guyz,” Dimo said, pointing at the closing flyers. “De cannons iz stronk enough to knock out de dam, und vit de sheep electrifyink de vater dey von’t be able to land safely.”

“Yessir,” Yakov said, and turned before Dimo could respond, shocked momentarily speechless. “Hoy!” He shouted into the tunnel. “Move out! Take de fortress und den retreat! Yan, Valeri, und Dion, vit me! Ve hunt!”

Dimo leapt out of the way as the second wave poured out of the opening, echoes of that battle cry ringing off the tunnel walls and into the valley.

He watched, fists clenched, as the majority of the platoon practically flew down the mountain, arrowing straight for the fortress. The closest of the flyers turned, aimed at the Jӓgers skidding down the rocks—

Yakov came out of nowhere, curled into a tight ball and slamming straight into the cannon, diverting the fire into the mountainside. His arms flew out and he managed to grab onto the clank body, swinging down and into it with a _bang_ and then climbing hand over fist up to the cockpit. Behind him, two more Jӓgers went cannonballing from the mountain and onto the next closest flyers, whooping. Dimo whirled to find Valeri recovering from the third throw, whirling his arms to keep his balance on the edge of the cliff, and let out a breath and slumped.

Beneath him, the wave of Jӓgers hit the fortress supports like an avalanche. The whole structure went down with a _crash_ that shook the ground.

In the air, Dion crashed his way into one of the cockpits. Less than a minute later the pilot went flying out into one of the other clanks, screaming, and the flyer’s cannon turned and blasted the two remaining flyers, sending them spiraling to the ground. Yakov reached his own cockpit and de-manned it as well, turning the cannon towards the ground and blasting the field, herding the Knight of Jove soldiers and sheep into the wall of Jӓgers pushing them into the dry riverbed.

“Vait ‘til dey clear de field!” he shouted at Dion, voice barely carrying on the wind back to Dimo, and to Yan who’d reached his own cockpit and turned his cannon towards the dam. “Dion! Cover dem!”

Dimo didn’t hear if Dion responded, because the cannon went off again, blasting the ground behind the Jӓgers and sending the soldiers into retreat. The Jӓgers parted like a sea and shot back to the mountainside, aiming for higher ground as the flyers covered the retreat and herded their enemies into the riverbed. Dimo dashed out and waved them up the mountain—one more minute—there. Yan blasted the dam.

Water poured out like a tidalwave, washing over the whole valley and thundering down the old riverbed. The soldiers screamed, and then the sound cut off, almost as suddenly as it began. Yan whooped and then yelped, flying maching teetering dangerously towards the water before righting again.

“Hoy!” Yakov called. “Careful, hyu eediot! Lend on de mountain, both of hyu!”

“Yessir!” Dion called, battlefire in his voice tinged with glee. They’d won!

They’d won. Dimo sat down as the first of the Jӓgers burst over the ledge, whooping in triumph, and breathed.

* * *

There had been three deaths, and 20 casualties, six of them serious. The bodies had been scooped up by their brothers and carried with the retreat, so they were able to give them a proper burial. Olga lost one of the seriously injured Jӓgers two days later, and her usual Jӓger assistants had to call Dimo to come and badger her out of the infirmary to get something to eat and drink and get some sleep. She called Dimo a thrice-damned hypocrite, but she went.

Dimo watched the area from the projector room, but as the water dissipated all that was left was the river—now considerably larger than it had been—and some scattered rubble across the valley. No Knights of Jove came to reclaim it, or to attack the Jӓgers’ tunnels. They’d not gotten any supplies, but the primary objective was judged a success.

It felt like something had changed, but Dimo couldn’t really put a finger on what. Everything he’d dropped to focus on the runway still needed attention—in fact, needed more attention now that he had been ignoring it for a few days—so it wasn’t that. It was—it kind of felt like—

Dimo was in his supply closet staring at a report without reading it and giving himself a headache trying to pinpoint what felt weird when Lucian came in and said “Hy tink Hy know vot iz goink on vit doze Jӓgers hyu vos askink about dot keep endink op in de infirmary, bot hyu iz not goink to like de answer.”

Dimo sighed. _That_ figured… “Hokay, so who iz dey und vot iz dey tinking,” he asked, setting his report aside and leaning forward.

Lucian paused, shifting from foot to foot and chewing on his lip, looking uncomfortable. “Iz…” He sighed. “Zlatko, Slava, Ionel, Ciprian, und Vasil,” he recited. “Hy talk to Tsvetan, Flaviu, und Petia, jah? Dey’s de sergeants in charge of dem, und Petia didn’t know vot vos wrong, only dot Zlatko took de town beink locked verra hard, und Flaviu said dot Vasil und Ionel vere preedy hostile for a vhile dot nobody effen _tried_ to get Miz Agatha out vhen she vos… vhen ve feegure out she vos inside…”

He paused again, shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Tsvetan tinks dot Slava und Ciprian iz beink reckless on purpose, Dimo. He tinks dey—“ He trailed off again, staring helplessly at Dimo, like now that he’d come all this way and gotten this far in the explanation he couldn’t bring himself to say the rest.

“Hyu tink dey iz tryink to get demselves keeled,” Dimo said flatly, filling in what he couldn’t say. He felt a little light-headed, blood rushing in his ears. That couldn’t be right, they wouldn’t ever—they wouldn’t _dare_ —

Suicide was against the Jӓgertroth. You couldn’t serve the masters if you were dead.

“Hy dun tink dey iz tryink to _actually die_ ,” Lucian hastily reassured, looking anguished. “Bot Hy shook down Gavril—he’s in Ionel und Vasil’s squad, und he say dey vos sayink dot—dot ve iz all goink to die in dese tonnels vit hour Heterodyne less den a hunndret miles avay und ve ken’t _reach_ her, und de best ve ken hope for iz a goot last battle—“

Dimo cursed. And then he kept cursing, a long string of every curse he could think of.

How _dare they_? What the hell were they even _thinking_ , they had _no right_ —Agatha was _right there_ , it wasn’t like before, when they thought all the Heterodynes were _dead_ —Dimo closed his mouth on the curses, breathed out through his nose, shut his eyes.

What the hell was he supposed to do with passively suicidal Jӓgermonsters? What could he even _say_ , that they were wrong? That Agatha would somehow _unfreeze herself in time_ and free the town from the inside? Or that Agatha’s Wulfenbach boy would figure out how to take the barrier down or pull everyone out? Or that they’d _find someone who could_?

Dimo was _furious_ at the idea that any of them would _ever_ give up on their Heterodyne, so livid he couldn’t _see_ straight, but—

But he was accustomed to the idea of searches that could last centuries.

But he’d volunteered for it so that the others wouldn’t _have to be_.

In hindsight, he probably should have… checked, done something, made sure that everyone had managed to pick up the pieces from regaining everything they cared about and losing it again in the next breath. He—

“Vhere iz dey now,” Dimo asked, closing his eyes and reaching up to massage his temples.

“Hy tink Slava und Ciprian iz out on patrol, bot Ionel, Vasil, und Zlatko iz in de base,” Lucian muttered.

“Hokay,” Dimo said decisively. “Tell dem not to go out on patrol, und vhen Ciprian und Slava kom back, tell dem all Hy meet dem—“ Not here, it was too small, and the projector room would have an audience… “How about de supply room in de projector room ving? De vun vit de beeg crates,” Dimo suggested, standing decisively. “Den kom und let me know dey iz headink dere. Hy iz goink to go und—“ he didn’t even know. “Talk to Olga, Hy guess,” he muttered, rubbing his face again.

“Ken do, boss,” Lucian agreed, sounding hollow. Dimo sighed, and waved him off, and walked past him out the door. He waited until he was around the bend and relatively alone before turning and kicking the wall as hard as he could.

 _Bang_. Ow. That didn’t help at all, and now his foot hurt. He sighed, and began trudging down the hall to the infirmary. He wanted to go back to planning attacks on partially built fortresses. That had been much easier.

* * *

Lucian came and found him four hours later, trailing Maxim in his wake. Dimo, who was sitting in a corner of the infirmary reading over the fruits of the past hours’ labors, raised an eyebrow. “Dey headink for de supply room?” he asked.

“Jah,” Lucian said, adjusting his hat absently.

“Hyu tell dem vot dis iz about?” Dimo asked.

“…No,” Lucian admitted. “Ah… deed… deed hyu vant me to…?” Dimo sighed.

“No,” he said, getting up. “Mebbe iz easier if Hy deal vit de whole conversation mineself. Thenks, Lucian.” He punched him in the shoulder as a good bye and started down the corridor, metal hand holding his list and flesh hand shoved in his pocket. “Und don’t hyu haff somevhere to be?” he asked Maxim, as the other fell into step with him.

“Naw,” Maxim said. “Oggie iz on shift for de patrols, so he’s gon be a bit late, bot Hy figure hyu should haff somevun at de door to… deescourage schneaky gossipmongers.” He shrugged.

“Heh,” Dimo said, feeling a wry smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Hyu know vot dis iz about?”

“…Hy know who Lucian told to go to supply room,” Maxim said carefully, “und Hy know vot all doze Jӓgers haff in common, hyu hed me runnink all over askink people to come talk to hyu about dem two veeks ago.” So, yes, Maxim knew. If he was so sure that Oggie would be there once Veaceslav relieved him, then Oggie probably knew what was going on as well.

Dimo wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved. He did anyway.

Then they were at the door to the supply room—or, rather, the door _frame_ , since this particular room didn’t _have_ a door. Dimo paused outside and took a deep breath.

“Hokay,” he said, and walked in.

All five of the Jӓgers in question were in the room, leaning against the boxes and fidgeting. Ionel was flipping a blade through his fingers, back and forth—probably working on dexterity still, it’d only been a few weeks since he broke his back. They all practically snapped to attention when Dimo entered the room, looking wary and trying to look like they weren’t. Dimo internally sighed.

“Sit down,” he told them, and boosted himself up onto one of the boxes. They all looked at each other, but did as they were told.

Good. Maybe this would go smoother than he was anticipating, then.

“How’s hyu back,” he asked Ionel, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Ionel blinked, and then reached up to nervously scratch at the back of his head.

“Goot,” he said, grinning hopefully. “Frau Olga sayz almost reddy to get beck in de field.”

“Mm,” Dimo said, and looked at his list. “Und… Ciprian. How’z de new hend?”

“…ah, fine, boss, vorkink great.”

“Chust like de leg?” Dimo asked, without looking up.

“…jah, dot’s also great.”

“Hm… Zlatko, vot’s op vit de… wow, four stab vounds.” Dimo looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Dot’s kind ov impressive, vot did hyu do, impale hyuself on a Knight of Jove?”

“…uuuuum,” Zlatko answered, looking away from Dimo, which wasn’t comforting. Dimo sighed and looked back at the list.

“Vasil. How’s hyu head?”

“Ho, dot’s fine, boss,” Vasil assured him. “Hy haff a hard head.”

“Hard enough hyu survived eet getting beat in twelve times since ve kom here,” Dimo agreed. “Hy haff eet here, yez. Und den dere iz Slava. Hy dun effen know vhere to start vit hyu, brodder, hyu haff a leest here dot’s beeger den all four ov de odders here. Hy tink Ionel vins on creativity, though.”

He looked back up again, letting some of the growl finally enter his voice. “Hy liked de vun vit de tree und de fire, dot vun probably took _vork_ , Ionel. Deed hyu climb de tree und _den_ set eet on fire, or deed hyu chust jump on vhen eet vos chust fallink over de cliff?” Ionel opened his mouth to respond, sitting up straighter like he was about to try to defend himself. “Hy iz not feenished,” Dimo snarled. Ionel winced. Dimo nodded, vindicated, and then sat back on his box.

“Eenterestink reading, hyu boyz’ medical records,” he told them, casual tone undermined by the growl leaking out underneath. “Deed hyu know hyu all haff been een de eenfirmary et _least_ twice effery month since ve vos here? Et _least_.” Dimo crumpled the paper, definitely growling now. “Vot de blue lightnink iz hyu lot _tinking_? No, Hy dun tink Hy ecktually vant to know. Hy haff de vorld’s vorst headache und Hy tink de _schtupid_ vould make it _vorse_.”

All five of them winced, shrinking in on themselves. Ciprian started to answer, “Hy…” and then stopped, like he’d run out of things to say.

Dimo sighed, swallowed the growl. “Dis ken’t go on,” he told them. “Hyu iz not chust a danger to hyuselves out dere, hyu iz a danger to hyu _squads_. Ve don’t haff enough Jӓgers dot Hy ken let hyu do dot.” None of them looked up. Dimo closed his eyes, and then opened them again. “Hy iz takink hyu off de patrol und supply run rosters,” he told them.

“ _Vot_ ,” Slava said, head shooting up, eyes wide. Dimo glared at him.

“Hy ken’t trust hyu to _use hyu heads_ out dere? Fine, hyu von’t go out. Hy giff hyu sentry duty, und loan hyu out to Miz Judy und Meester Ponch—dey alvayz need extra hends. Mebbe Hy let Frau Olga commandeer hyu for a bit, Hy dunno yet. Considerink hyu all haff more eenjuries den Hy got een a _year_ vild, Hy tink probashon for dot lonk iz appropriate.”

“Hyu _ken’t_ ,” Ionel wailed. “Ve—dot’s—“

“Hy _chust deed_ ,” Dimo snarled, and Ionel shut up again. “ _Vun_ year, und iffen hyu dun manage to _eenjure_ hyuselves unnecessarily in dot time, ve talk again.” He jumped off his box, standing in front of them all with his arms crossed. “ _Do Hy make mineself clear_?”

They stared at him for a minute, mutinously, and then Zlatko sighed and slumped. “Yessir,” he muttered.

“Yessir,” the other four echoed, sounding shocked and miserable. Dimo nodded.

“Goot. Iffen Hy effer hear about dis again, boyz, Hy keel hyu all mineself und save hyu de trouble. Dismissed.”

They went, filing out of the room wordlessly. Slava looked like he was about to _cry_. Dimo made himself stand there and watch them leave, listen until they rounded the bend in the tunnel and were gone.

Then he turned and put his fist through the wall.

“Dun tink de vall deserved dot,” Oggie mused from the doorway. Dimo pulled his fist out of the hole, eying the damage—bleeding, but nothing broken—and then absently licked his knuckles clean as he turned to look at the door. Maxim and Oggie were both inside the room, leaning against opposite doorframes. Maxim looked pretty grave, but Oggie was surprisingly neutral, arms crossed and head cocked like someone was telling him a vaguely interesting story.

“Jah?” Dimo asked. “Hyu dun know de half ov eet.” He sighed, and then sat down right there on the floor under the hole, licking at his knuckles again.

“Hyu vant ve go talk to their corporals?” Maxim asked, quietly.

“Mm,” Dimo said, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. “Jah, Hy tink somevun closer should ecktually _talk_ to dem, hyu know? Et least keep en eye on dem—“ he shook his head. “Hy vould haff hed to _do_ something, hyu know?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“Jah,” Maxim said, coming over to sit as well. Oggie followed him, ever-present halberd slung over his shoulder. “Iz better if iz de corporalz. Or de squads, really.”

“Mm,” Dimo agreed. “Ve go und do dot een a bit, though. Hy need a break.”

Oggie snorted, setting his weapon down and spreading his legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “Hokay, brodder, ve take a break, den.”

Maxim snickered, and rolled his eyes, but he tilted his hat down and sat back against the wall, breathing going slow and even. Oggie started to hum to himself, quietly, fingers tapping out the rhythm of some song or other on the stone floor. Dimo closed his eyes.

The room was quiet—no machinery in here, and nobody had any real reason to come in, so for fifteen minutes, twenty, it could have been some old abandoned shack or tower on the road—just the three of them and the dust and the quiet. It was—comforting, almost. Dimo never thought he’d actually _miss_ that time, but—this, maybe, he did miss a bit.

Not enough to wish to go back to it, though.

“How do hyu tink,” Maxim asked, breaking the silence with the tone he used when he’d been pondering some overly serious philosophical question and was going to drag them in just for something to do, “dot de Generals became de Generals? Hy mean de old vuns, not like Mamma.” He shifted next to Dimo. “Hyu tink somevun told dem dey vos generals now, or dot dey decided, or vot?”

Dimo opened his eyes to glare at him. Maxim was sitting with one leg flat and the other bent, arms wrapped around it, and was pointedly not looking at Dimo. He had a feeling he knew why Maxim had brought up _that_ particular question right now, and he wasn’t particularly interested in discussing it. “Dunno,” he grumbled, pointedly.

“Hy tink it vos probably more gradual-like,” Oggie said, still looking at the ceiling. Dimo looked too—no, just a stone ceiling. “Vos not dey vake op und ho, Hy iz a general! Vos more like… somevun needed to tell de odders to guard dis place und den dot place, so dey do dot. Und den somevun needed to do de askink for intelleegehnce, so dey do _dot_. Und den somevun needed to do de yellink, so dey do dot too, und den dey command de battle becawz novun else could do eet, und den vun day—“ He trailed off and shrugged.

Dimo had been right. He didn’t want to participate in this conversation. He snorted and tilted his hat down over his eyes. Not listening to you two, take your pointed conversation elsewhere.

“Huh,” Maxim said, sounding thoughtful. There was silence for minute, and then he continued, sounding a little worried. “How long do hyu tink dot took, den?”

Oggie snickered, and then there was rustling as he sat up. “Dun vorry, brodder, Hy tink it took a vhile. Ve iz probably safe. Vell. Except Dimo.”

“Schotop,” Dimo grumbled.

“Hy calls dem like Hy sees dem,” Oggie informed him, obnoxiously, and then kicked him in the foot he’d kicked the wall with earlier.

“Ow!” Dimo snapped, and pushed his hat back to glare at Ognian, who was grinning unrepentantly.

“Vhen hyu gon chust admit eet?” Oggie asked. “Efferyvun knows, Dimo. Hyu dun even complain vhen somevun calls hyu ‘sir’ ennymore!”

“Hy…” Dimo sighed, slumped even further against the wall. “Hy dun vant it,” he complained.

“Dun tink hyu haff moch choice,” Maxim pointed out, not meanly, “since hyu keep doink eet ennyvay.”

“Mm,” Dimo said, noncommittal, and then stood up. “Hokay, break over, get op hyu two.”

Dimo spent the rest of the day tracking down and having private conversations with the corporals directly in command of the five Jӓgers newly on probation, and then with Punch and Judy and Olga, to make sure they knew what to expect. Oggie popped in at some point and told him Veaceslav and Jenka had both been informed, and Maxim showed up and told him Zeetha knew and was fine.

When Dimo finally got back to his supply closet, it was well past the time anyone sane would be asleep. Dimo looked at his little setup, with its real desk and its real chairs and its brand new bookself shoved into the corner stacked with reports, and the pile he’d been trying to get through earlier still in its place by his seat, ready to be reviewed.

He had a meeting with Jadran tomorrow, and had to rearrange the supply run and patrol schedules. He also had to track down Iosef at some point and get a report on the projector room—he was _not_ going to make _that_ mistake again.

It was so annoying when Oggie and Maxim were right. Dimo had _never_ wanted to be promoted. It felt like a bit of a betrayal that he’d somehow done it to _himself_.

He came to a decision.

* * *

“Hokay,” Dimo said to the gathering of Jӓgers in the makeshift mess hall, all of whom were watching Dimo with vague interest. Dimo sighed. He normally wouldn’t commandeer the mess for something like this, but it was the only place he could think of where a lot of Jӓgers were  _guaranteed_ to be at any given moment, and he wanted this done sooner rather than later. He squared his shoulders, crossed his arms, and addressed the room.

“It haz come to mine attention dot Hy iz doink de job ov an actink General,” he announced. “Hy figure, iffen Hy iz gonna do dot, Hy get to haff de title. So here’s hyu vun chance to object.” He paused, looking around the room. Nobody looked like they were going to object. Actually, a few of the Jӓgers looked a bit confused. “Anyvun?” he tried. “…Really? Hyu iz chust gon let me kom in here und announce dot vitout a fight? Nobody?”

In the back, Milan raised his hand tentatively. Dimo wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or relieved. “Yes, Milan, thenk hyu. Vot?”

Milan stood up, and scratched the back of his head. “Hy thought… hyu alreddy vos de aktink general?” he said, tentatively, like he wasn’t sure if he was really supposed to be talking.

Dimo glared at him. Milan wilted a little, looking away from Dimo shiftily.

“…ennyvun else?” Dimo asked pointedly. To his surprise, Iosef raised his hand. “Yez, Iosef.”

“Jah, dis izn’t about de general ting,” Iosef told him, standing up. “Hy haff de report for de projector ting dot hyu vanted. Octavian wrote eet, so should be goot. Hyu vant Hy giff eet to hyu now or—“

Dimo sighed, shoulders slumping, and fought not to laugh. Well then! “No, meet me et mine supply closet after dis. Ecktually, Milan, hyu come too. Hyu punishment for beink a schmarty pents iz to help me move all de schtuff out ov de supply closet. Hy need more schpace.” Milan perked up, apparently relieved that he wasn’t actually in trouble.

“Yessir!” he called, and stood up, shoving the last of what looked like a fairly large sandwich into his mouth as he did. Iosef, already standing, nodded.

“Yessir,” he echoed, clearly a little amused. Dimo gave one last look around the room, and then shook his head.

“Hy hate hyu all,” he announced to the mess hall. Everyone snickered. He rolled his eyes. “Go beck to hyu food,” he ordered them. “Iosef, Milan! Horry op, Hy vant to sleep sometime tonight und Hy haff to get dis done first.”

He turned before they could respond and walked out of the mess hall, hands shoved in his pockets. He probably wasn’t going to sleep tonight, and Iosef definitely wasn’t going to be any help with orgainizing the reports, but at least he’d soon be able to lean his chair back without banging into the wall behind him.

Maybe he’d move into the supply room next to the projector room. He’d sort of already made his mark in there, after all, and it wouldn’t do to break with tradition.

* * *

END


End file.
